Rescue Me
by Orison
Summary: A series of short, standalone stories in which the boys get to save each other, literally and/or figuratively.
1. The Price of Nobility

**Rescue Me**

**1 - ****The Price of Nobility**

A/N: Hello everyone. Here's my latest challenge: a series of short stories based on Tumblr (whumpy) prompts that I was unable to resist. In these stories you'll find the boys rescuing each other, literally and figuratively, and although the subject of injured Steve/Danny has been touched many times over the years I hope you won't find them boring. I voluntarily left some of the medical and case details vague to focus on the relationship between the two and how they deal with crisis that affect one or the other.

The prompt will be listed at the end of each story. I figured it would ruin the surprise if you knew what was going to happen in advance.

As you know, my favorite character is Steve so he will be a little more prominent. You have been warned.

This particular story is set after the events of 9x12. A big thank you to Susan for reading it and telling me it was good enough to be posted.

* * *

"So what'd you tell Gracie?" Steve asked as he shifted the Camaro into park and switched off the engine, trying to speed up the conversation that had lasted the whole ride so that his partner would feel free to come to a point, if there was ever one.

Danny unbuckled his seatbelt and shrugged. "I told her she's not getting another car, period. Not anytime soon. And that the topic is not open for discussion."

The painful memories of the accident that had nearly cost his daughter's life were still too fresh in the detective's mind. Even if it had turned out she'd had no fault in it and had actually been commended for trying to protect her friend, the sight of her young and fragile body lying so still in the ICU had been a shock he hadn't quite covered from. There was no way he was allowing her behind the wheel yet.

A soft sigh escaped Steve's lips. "I guess she's not taking it too well, is she?"

"No, she's not. But this time there's gonna be no going behind my back. I told Rachel she is _not_ to let her borrow her car until I say so. I also told Stan, and I'm telling you now so everybody's informed."

"Alright."

Steve knew better than to argue with him. He had called his partner a Jewish grandmother but truth was, he understood his reasons. Who could blame him? They'd all come too damn close to losing her so Danny was allowed to go a bit over the top to make sure she was safe.

"And don't tell me I'm overreacting, alright? 'Cause I'm not," the Jersey native replied, his ever-moving hands emphasizing the point he was trying to make. "She nearly died, and I'm terrified it could happen again..."

Steve nodded. Despite not being a parent, he loved Danny's children as if they were his own and couldn't help sharing his friend's concern. "I hear you, buddy. But you guys raised her right so you gotta trust her sooner or later. Grace is a smart young woman and she's gonna be fine." He gave Danny a reassuring pat on the shoulder and got out of the car, inspecting the run-down trailer park area near Ewa Beach where their latest suspect had taken residence.

"I know," Danny said to himself before exiting the vehicle and walking up to him, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the chain-linked fence that welcomed them to the camp.

Rusted mailboxes and overflowing trashcans only added to the depressing picture in front of them. It was sad to think there were people who called this dump home.

"Remember this place?" The Five-0 leader asked as flashbacks from nearly a decade before brought him back to the first time they had visited it.

"I sure do. Barely an hour after ambushing me into becoming your partner you dragged me out here and got me shot. I should've known right then and there that my life was going to turn into a gun-filled nightmare." The smile on his lips was hard to miss despite his accusing words. "Should've run when I had the chance."

"Nine years, buddy," Steve said, shaking his head in amazement. "Who would've thought?"

He had come back to the island a damaged man after losing Freddie and his father in a very short amount of time. Reeling from grief and a crushing amount of combat stress from his missions he'd barely had time to adjust to civilian life, and had latched onto the loud-mouthed detective as if he was a lifeline. With time and persistence, Danny had made him whole again. Barreling through his defenses, chipping away his armor and weaving himself into every corner of Steve's life.

His constant amidst the chaos.

The brother he could trust with his life.

The only person who had never lied to him like everyone else had.

"I know, right? Thought we wouldn't have lasted a week."

That first day, not too far from where he was standing now, Danny had punched Steve in the face, frustrated by the man's know-it-all attitude and disregard for safety. Since then, the batshit-crazy, emotionally-stunted SEAL had become his best friend, his rock, the one he'd chosen to share his retirement plans with because he couldn't bear the thought of not having him around.

Danny had allowed his children to fall in love with him, strengthening a bond that would now connect them for life and discovering in amazement how the man who wouldn't take help from anyone was instead generous to a fault, and that for someone who didn't voice his feelings Steve wore them on his sleeve for everyone to see.

Unbelievable how much he had changed since that first day.

"That way," Steve said, leading them through discarded furniture and old tires and past what had once been Fred Doran's house.

Jim Kaiwi, the man they were looking for, was a person of interest in the murder of two known drug dealers. From the information Jerry had been able to dig up, he and the victims had shared a boys' night out across town, visiting three different joints where they'd spent considerable cash before allegedly going their separate ways. Less than twelve hours later, the two bodies had been discovered in an alley not too far from their latest hangout.

Wondering why a man who lived in a trailer park had suddenly dressed up to party sporting wads of bills he had no business waving around, Steve and Danny had decided to question him while the rest of the team focused on the victims' finances and business associates.

Steve moved at a quick, deliberate pace, eyes scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger. From experience, they both knew most of the residents in the area were involved in illegal activities and cops were not welcome so extra caution was advised.

Meth labs and white trash —those were the words Meka had used during a very informative tour of the island on his first week on the job. Nine years later, the description still fit to a tee.

As he followed Steve towards Kaiwi's trailer, his own eyes alert and right hand resting on the gun holstered at his side, Danny couldn't help remembering more details from their first day together.

'_We shouldn't be doing this without backup.'_

'_You are the backup.'_

Some things hadn't changed.

Despite having mellowed a bit over the years, Steve was still the _'act first, think later'_ guy that made Danny's blood pressure rise on a regular basis. Whether it was a free dive into the ocean or a jump into a sand processing machine to catch a perp, that paralyzing fear that stole his breath and quickened his heartbeat was still a faithful companion today as it had been back at the beginning.

And sometimes, when he least expected it, an ominous feeling of foreboding snuck its way into Danny's mind, rattling him to the core. It had happened on the pier outside the Arcturus while Steve was being tortured and it was happening now, a warning that something bad was about to happen.

He slowed down and looked around, failing to spot anything out of the ordinary. Yet there was a tension in the air, like static, that seemed to freeze him in his tracks.

"Steve?" he called tentatively.

"What?"

"Wait up."

The former SEAL held out his arms in a questioning gesture, brows furrowed. "Why? What is it?"

Trying to explain a gut feeling to a man of action like McGarrett was like explaining quantum physics to a five-year-old. "Just… wait up."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Let's just be careful, alright?"

"Yeah, always," Steve shrugged like it went with the territory, like his approach to suspects and crimes didn't involve hand grenades and close-quarter combat.

Danny resisted the urge to laugh. The word 'careful' hadn't been in Steve's vocabulary since he was probably in diapers.

"Hear this?" he said, twirling a finger in the air to signal the space around them.

"What?"

"Exactly. Nothing, there's nothing to hear. Shithole like this, middle of the day...what are the odds?"

Steve strained his ears to listen, becoming suddenly aware of the lack of sound surrounding them. No chattering, radios or TVs. Not even a bird chirping.

"You think something's about to go down?"

Danny had good instincts and he'd learned not to dismiss them, but the thought of a potential threat only fueled his resolve to find out what it was and put an end to it. Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett might not be as fast or as strong as he had once been but he still fully intended to honor the promise he'd made to the people of Hawaii and keep them safe.

"Cover the back, I'll check the front," he said, reaching for his SIG and chambering a bullet.

Danny grabbed his arm to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa hold on a sec, would you, what's the rush?"

"What's the rush?" Steve repeated in disbelief. "Danny, if there's hostiles inside we need to stop them!"

"Hostiles? There's no hostiles, Steve, we're not at war! These are junkies looking to score, which makes them even more dangerous."

"And standing out here arguing about it isn't gonna make them any less dangerous..."

"Alright, alright," Danny huffed. "But let's stay together, alright? No crazy solo acts."

"Alright."

Nodding in agreement, Steve slowly approached the run-down trailer, his partner not too far behind. Now that Danny had mentioned it, he couldn't help thinking that the haunting silence of the otherwise lively encampment was indeed a bad sign. Could they have underestimated their suspect?

He gripped the gun tighter, aiming it towards the closed door of the old Airstream. They didn't know if Kaiwi was inside, but there was indeed a chance the man was a murderer and wouldn't go down without a fight.

Behind him, weapon drawn, Danny nervously surveyed the scene. Three more mobile homes were parked close by, providing cover from unwanted eyes along with a few abandoned car wrecks that had become nests for chickens and stray dogs. Two shabby cottages were also standing in the cramped space, one next to the other. They all looked lived-in, and yet no one was around.

"James Kaiwi, Five-0!" Steve's voice echoed loudly over the quiet camp.

Weeks later, over a cold beer, Danny would recount it wasn't really a sound that made him turn just as Kaiwi stepped out of his hiding spot between two of the abandoned cars. Call it instinct, or some sort of preternatural sensation, he spun around just in time to see the man raise his automatic weapon and aim it at Steve who was about to open the trailer's door, oblivious to the threat.

It all happened in a blink: the Jersey detective, standing a few feet behind to his partner's right, leapt sideways and into the bullet's path without even thinking, shouting Steve's name in warning as he did so just as Kaiwi squeezed the trigger.

The gun went off, and a burning sensation to his left shoulder followed right after. Danny fired back, hitting their suspect in the chest and watching him fall to the ground as he went down himself, crying out in pain when he landed on his injured side.

It took him a moment to regain the breath that the shot and the fall had stolen from him. When it did, and the haze partially cleared from his mind, he reached out his hand and inspected the wound, relieved to find out it was just a through-and-through and nothing major had been hit.

"This place is cursed," he groaned as he slowly sat up. "Mark my words, Steven, I am not setting foot here _ever_ again!"

At least Steve was okay. He had protected him from the shot.

Or so he thought, until his brain kicked in and he remembered that the bullet had gone straight through him and that his partner was standing right behind.

His partner, who he couldn't see from his current position.

His best friend, who was not making a sound.

Heart suddenly racing, Danny scrambled to his feet. He turned around, and a look of horrified realization crossed his face when he saw Steve collapse in front of his very eyes as if someone had just dropped his strings.

"Steve!"

He stumbled forward, ignoring the dizziness from his own injury, and dropped to his knees next to him.

Steve's face was closed in a grimace, his left hand clamped over his chest where the bullet had hit. Blood was leaking steadily from under his fingers, quickly turning his light blue shirt into a brownish, sticky mess.

"No— no no no no... Steve! Steven!"

"Danny..." Steve frowned at him when their eyes met, confusion clearly written across his features. One moment he was standing in front of the suspect's door and the next he was laying on the dirt, a gaping hole in his chest.

"It's alright, I got you. You gonna be alright." Careful not to cause more harm, Danny pulled his friend forward a little to look at his back. Steve groaned at the motion and instinctively tried to resist. "Don't— don't do that, let me see... let me check."

No exit wound.

_Damn_.

"How bad?"

Danny swallowed hard. "We, uh… we can fix this. We're gonna get you patched up, you'll be as good as new." Biting his lip to keep from crying out, he took off his shirt and balled it up so he could use it to slow the blood flow. "This is gonna hurt, alright, but I need to put pressure on the wound."

"'m alright..." the former SEAL breathed out.

"No, you're not, but you will be. I promise."

"You... hurt?" Steve asked as he shivered slightly, trying to focus on something other than his best friend's worried face and his own predicament. He had failed to spot and defuse a threat and that was unacceptable, especially since it had harmed Danny as a result.

"It's nothing. Through-and-through. Doesn't even hurt."

They both knew better, but no one dared to say it out loud.

Sweat was glistening on Steve's face and each labored breath felt like a stab to Danny's own lungs. He had seen enough injuries on the force to recognize the symptoms of a pneumothorax.

His partner needed help, and he needed it _now_.

Raising his head, he frantically looked around, hoping to spot someone. There _had_ to be people nearby.

"Hey! I need help!" he yelled, his voice reverberating like a clap of thunder through the silent space. "Officer down! Come on out here, you cowards!"

When a long, agonizing minute passed and nothing happened, Danny shook his head in frustration and switched position, grabbing his blood-soaked shirt with his left hand while reaching for his phone with the other. His own wound was still bleeding and the strength in the injured arm was waning, but it was either this or watch his best friend bleed to death and he couldn't let that happen. Not today, not _ever_.

Steve shifted under him, his body racked by a bout of dry cough that only increased the sharp, stabbing pain on the side of his chest and left him gasping for air. He put his shaking hands on top of Danny's, and if it was any other occasion they would've probably both laughed at the fact that two people were barely able to apply any pressure.

Blinking back tears, Danny hastily dialed 911 and put the phone on speaker, dropping it to the ground as he resumed compression, ignoring the growing red puddle on the ground beneath his friend.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"Yeah, this is Detective Danny Williams with Five-0, I need an ambulance at Ewa Beach Trailer Park, my partner's been shot! He, uh… he has a gunshot wound to the chest and probably a collapsed lung."

"Copy that, Detective, the bus is on its way. ETA is 10 minutes."

_Ten minutes_?

Did Steve even have ten minutes?

"Ah…dispatch, I—I don't know if he has that long. Please tell them to hurry…"

The emergency operator assured him that they would do their best and asked a few more questions. Danny grunted one-word replies then tuned the voice completely out, determined to make sure the medics had someone to save when they got there.

"This wasn't supposed to happen..." he muttered as his panic soared. The pessimistic nature he had been trying to keep at bay was taking over and he couldn't help worrying about what kind of damage the bullet had done. The bullet he'd wanted to shield Steve from. "I thought I'd saved you. I thought I'd saved you..."

Steve recognized his friend's destructive behavior and again, tried to distract him.

"I'm sorry..."

"For what?"

"N-nine years ago... you said... if you get somebody shot, y-you apologize..."

Danny shook his head, lips pursed, thinking that no, there was no way he could continue living if something ever happened to Steve. "You remember that, huh? I'm surprised."

"'Course I do…" Steve replied, latching onto his friend's arm with surprising strength. "You t-think I don't listen to you… but I do." Another bout of cough shook his frame and he stiffened, fingers digging into Danny's skin. His chest felt tight, the pain getting worse every time he breathed in, like someone had their hands inside of him and was rhythmically crushing his lungs as hard as they could. When it faded, he was able to think and talk; when it returned, he could only hold still until it passed. "This is my... borrowed time. Wouldn't have… lived this long if it wasn't for you."

"What are you saying, buddy?"

"I'm s-saying... thank you."

"No need to. You wanna thank me, you stay awake until the paramedics get here. Alright?"

Steve gave him a look, an apologetic look that said '_you know I'll try but this is out of my hands so forgive me if I can't_', and Danny nodded in understanding.

He could feel Steve's rapid heartbeat and knew he didn't have much time.

"I got you... I got you. Come on, stay with me. Stay with me..."

Where the hell was the damn ambulance?

Wasn't it ten minutes already?

His arms were shaking from exhaustion and the blood loss was making him lightheaded but he kept pressing his shirt over the wound, murmuring reassurances. It barely seemed enough, yet it calmed Steve down. Every few minutes he would moan— a low, heartbreaking moan of a person consumed by pain. Then he would go quiet, as if retreating into a deeper place to cope.

Danny never stopped talking.

Even when his friend went still and his eyes slid closed.

He kept looking over his shoulders, frantically searching for the help that they so desperately needed, but mostly he fixed his gaze on Steve's face so that when he opened his eyes he'd be the first thing he saw.

* * *

"You took a bullet for me."

Danny shifted nervously in his seat under his partner's intense stare.

"Don't. We've been over this already."

"You took a _bullet_ for me."

Today, Steve was lucid for the first time in weeks. There were no drugs coursing through his system and no ventilator to prevent him from speaking, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to finally address the issue that had been bothering him since that day.

Danny lowered his gaze, shifting it from his friend's face to the black converse on his feet. If there was a dress code for hospitals, this was his — black t-shirt, jeans, sneakers. Grace had pointed out that very morning that they were the same clothes he'd worn when she was in the hospital, and promptly suggested that he'd burn them as fast as he could. Danny wholeheartedly agreed, vowing to do that the first chance he'd get.

"Didn't really matter, did it? It was all for nothing."

He was still experiencing a tremendous amount of guilt over what had happened. One thing was a bullet like the one that had shattered Steve's liver, one he'd had no control over. This... this he had tried to stop and failed, and it hurt even more. The wound on his shoulder had mostly healed, but the hours spent by his friend's bedside would never fade from his memory.

"Don't say that."

Steve was feeling equally responsible. He should've paid more attention, searched better, reacted faster. He'd let a drug dealer get the better of him and nearly left Charlie and Grace without a father.

"You almost died, Steve. _Again_. What good am I if I can't even—"

"It was a freak accident, alright? You couldn't have predicted it."

"I should have!" he rose abruptly to his feet, the legs of the chair scraping against the linoleum floor. "All the shit we've been through; it should've taught me something! This... this doesn't happen to normal people but it keeps happening to us, and I'm sick of it!" The headache that had slowly started at the base of his skull was now radiating around his entire head and he rubbed at his temple as fragmented images of bloodied scrubs and a green cardiac flat line flashed through his brain.

Steve had stared Death in the eye. Stood so close that it had almost claimed him.

Something Danny just couldn't cope with.

"You in a hospital bed, hooked to machines, barely responsive. I can't go through this again."

"Danny..."

The Jersey native ignored him and started to pace. "First Grace, now you... I can't keep seeing the people I love get hurt..."

"I'm sorry, man," Steve apologized. He pushed himself upright on the bed, desperately trying to get his partner's attention. The wires and IV lines connected to his body stretched and pulled, and he was forced to lay back against the pillow. "Hey... hey, come over here. Please. I can't move," he sighed in frustration.

Danny turned around and frowned at the sight of his best friend trying to untangle himself. "Don't move, please," he urged as he walked back to the bed and helped him before resuming his position in the seat he had just vacated.

Steve's fingers curled around his wrist. "You saved my life. I'm here, today, because of you. Doctor said if the bullet had hit me directly I would've probably died so don't beat yourself up for it, alright? If anything it is my fault for underestimating that son of a bitch."

It was true. The fact that the bullet had traveled through Danny first had slowed its path and lessened the damage to Steve's body. It was meant to be a consoling thought if one could get past two surgeries, weeks of ICU and the severity of the injuries that the man _had_ sustained.

Danny couldn't.

"Grace called," he blurted out of the blue.

"Oh yeah?" Steve's face lit up in excitement at the news.

"That day. While I was trying to keep you alive. I didn't even realize it was her, didn't even look after I pressed the button, but then I heard her voice…" Danny's gaze traveled to the window and the world outside where people kept on living their lives while he was stuck in a loop of pain and regret. "She was calling about the graduation party. Wanted me to tell you that she'd love to do it at your place."

"That's great, Danny. As soon as I get out of here I'll start—"

"She's, uh... she's a smart girl, you know. Realized something bad was going on." Steve listened intently as Danny went on, unconsciously picking at the hem of his sheet. "I couldn't move. I literally couldn't move my hands 'cause you were losing so much blood... and she kept talking to me. To both of us. She kept me sane, man. She kept me focused until the paramedics got there when all I wanted to do was curl up next to you and cry."

Danny could still see the blood on his hands. He stared at them as his eyes filled with tears, ashamed to admit he had relied on his 17-year old daughter for comfort. "I guess... I guess I didn't do a good job of protecting her that day."

When he met Steve's gaze, he saw that his hazel eyes were equally wet. "I had no idea..." the other man whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat at the thought of the brave young woman who had managed to be strong when none of them could.

"You were pretty out of it," Danny shrugged.

Steve nodded as he reached for the bed controls and raised the upper half of the mattress a bit. Sitting in an elevated position made breathing easier and his healing lung hurt less.

The relieved sigh that escaped his lips didn't go unnoticed.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure? Did you do your breathing exercises today?"

"I said I'm fine," he repeated, exhaling a lungful of air. "Look, I'm really sorry you had to go through that but you're a great father, Danny. Grace is not gonna think any less of you for being vulnerable."

"That's rich coming from you, SuperSEAL," Danny smiled as a matching grin spread on his partner's face.

"Hey… do as I say, not as I do, right?"

"Right."

"So where's the doctor? I need to know when I can get out of here, we have a party to plan."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Six to eight weeks, Steve. He said it takes six to eight weeks to fully recover from a punctured lung. It's been barely two."

"Danny, that's for regular people. I'm not gonna spend six weeks in a hospital or sitting at home!" Steve replied, offended by the mere thought of being sidelined for that long.

"Yes, that's correct. Regular people who are _not_ at risk of infection for the immunosuppressants they take. People who are _not_ suffering from radiation poisoning." The Jersey native stood up again and leaned on the edge of the bed. "Rest, take all your meds, and absolutely no driving until you're healed. That's what he said. And I would tend to trust him, you know, having a medical degree and all."

Steve sighed. "I see lots of matzo ball soup in my future…"

Danny feigned outrage, but only for a second. "You should be looking forward to it. I don't do that for just anybody."

"I am, buddy. I am."

THE END

So… did you like it? Would love to hear your thoughts about it.

This was the prompt:

'_A jumps in front of B and takes a bullet. __Thinks B is safe and it turns out A's injury isn't as bad as it could have been. Through and through, nothing major hit._

_But wait… B was behind A. Look of horrified realization as A turns around in time to see B collapsing slowly to the ground._


	2. A Man of Action

**A Man of Action**

A/N: Thanks everyone for the positive feedback on the first story. I wasn't sure if you guys would be interested in reading something like this and your comments have certainly made a difference.

Here's the second installment. Steve and Danny. Even at odds, always there for each other.

* * *

"Hey, Frank, where's my lunch?"

Steve McGarrett heard his partner's voice and froze in his tracks.

Shit.

He had done a pretty good job of avoiding him the whole morning, locking himself in his office and pretending to do paperwork and now here he was, standing right behind him at the security check.

His timing really, really sucked.

After yet another 'act first, think later' moment that had landed him in the ER with a sprained wrist and a few busted ribs, Danny had made it perfectly clear that he'd reached the breaking point. A glorious rant about his self-destructive tendencies had ensued, and he'd yelled to anyone who would listen that he was finally free to get himself killed if that was what he wanted because he no longer cared.

Eyes dark with a mix of rage and fear Steve had rarely witnessed in his best friend's gaze, he had pinned him with one last glare and left him right there in the trauma room while the nurse tended to his wrist, making it impossible for him to follow his steps.

Steve had hung his head for a long moment, waiting for the shock to subside, then after apologizing to the medical staff he'd cradled his aching limb to his chest and dialed Junior's number. The young SEAL had come to collect him a short while later, almost apologetic for not being the person Steve really wanted by his side, and he had spent the rest of the day gratefully numbed by the pain meds that for once he hadn't refused. Sitting on the recliner, staring at his stubbornly silent phone.

A sprained wrist. A stupid injury that didn't even hurt anymore.

He had been through worse, so why the tirade?

Danny knew how much he loved his job, how much he wanted to make a difference out there. He knew it mattered to him to come home at night, look at his reflection in the mirror and be proud of the man he saw. That was who he was, who he had been long before they'd met.

Saving lives made his own struggles worth, gave his existence purpose.

But that wasn't all. If he was honest with himself, Steve had to admit that he enjoyed the rush of adrenaline only a chase could give him, the blood roaring in his ears every time he pulled out his weapon.

He needed it to feel alive.

Sure, the job came with certain risks, but he had accepted those years ago. He wouldn't have chosen a career in the military, training with the best of the best, if he was afraid of spilling blood and face danger.

Steve McGarrett was a man of action.

If he had wanted to sit for eight hours, he'd be a bus driver or a clerk.

Which was exactly what he felt like today. A damn pencil-pusher.

He had come into work expecting the usual flood of activity to find out with dismay that there were no loose ends to tie, no new leads to follow, no suspects to interview. As if to mock him, all criminals had apparently decided to take the day off and four hours into his work day, he was climbing the walls with frustration and ready to shoot somebody just for the heck of it. Sitting at his desk typing reports and supply requisition forms while his best friend ignored him was a mind-numbing task he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy.

Danny hadn't said a word to him the whole morning. He had talked to Junior, welcomed Tani into his office and even offered Lou coffee. All that without even a glance in his direction. Then he had disappeared, off on some unknown errand that had only fueled Steve's foul mood, so he'd jumped at the chance to stretch his legs when Frank, the Palace's security guard, had requested his presence downstairs.

If he made it to the end of the day, he was going to make sure there wouldn't be a repeat any time soon.

* * *

"...Wait here, Commander, I'll be right back."

The entrance, like almost every day, was a blur of activity. Between flocks of visitors coming to tour the historic building, regular employees and delivery guys bringing food to starved workers, Steve barely heard Frank's words and moved aside to wait his turn.

He didn't mind.

He had no idea why he'd been summoned and honestly, he didn't even care. He was just glad for the interruption. Seeing his partner though, feeling his familiar presence at his side almost made him wish he was back upstairs, safe in the confined space of his glass-encased office.

Hands on his hips, he gazed longingly outside, wishing he was out on the streets doing what he did best. There would be no pride today, no satisfaction for a job well done. Just disappointment for his failures as a friend and task-force leader.

Danny walked past him, so close that he could've reached out a hand and touched him. Steve offered him a smile, but the blond detective barely acknowledged him.

He hated it when things were so tense between them. Danny was his best friend, the one he had shared almost all of himself with. He couldn't imagine his life without him and it hurt a lot more than his bruised ribs to think that things might never be the same.

For a brief moment, he considered faking a phone call. Living up to his reputation of badass, always-in-motion Commander persona and going back upstairs to tend to an imaginary emergency. Frank wouldn't even notice. But then he turned around and realized Danny was no longer there. He quickly scanned the swarm of tourists crowding the hall and eventually slumped his shoulders in defeat when he couldn't spot him anywhere.

He had no idea what to do to make things better. In his book, he'd done nothing wrong. Still, Danny was the best thing that had ever happened to him and Steve was not ready to let him slip out of his life. Not without a struggle anyway.

Okay, maybe he should've waited for backup. That was an old controversy the two partners had spent countless hours discussing about. Steve was a man of instinct. Urgency and efficiency had been drilled into him since his Army and Navy Academy days. If he sensed something or recognized danger, he reacted without even thinking. What was the big deal about that?

Yesterday's incident hadn't been the first time they'd yelled at each other or said things they really didn't mean. Hell, not a day had gone by since their first encountered in his father's garage that the most trivial stuff hadn't ignited the loudest of rants.

Danny liked to share every single thought that crossed his mind, whether he was upset or having a good day.

Steve was the opposite, yet he had learned to counteract his partner's statements with equally good arguments on his part and half the time, it was him who riled Danny up just to hear him talk.

This time, there had been no affection in his words.

And they were both too stubborn to take the first step.

* * *

"That's great, buddy, congratulations!"

He heard Danny's voice again and closed his eyes, bracing himself for another awkward encounter. Glancing casually to his right, he saw him shake Frank's hand and pat the man on the back.

"Thank you, Detective. Give me a sec, I'll go grab your lunch," the officer replied, holding out his hand in a 'wait here' gesture.

Danny's expression tightened, and he went still for a moment as if debating what to do before reluctantly moving to stand beside Steve.

Great.

Finally able to take a good look at his friend, Steve started to notice details that had eluded him before: the dark circles under Danny's eyes, the way he was leaning against the white column as if he didn't have the strength to stand up straight.

One day had aged him ten years.

Had he caused that?

Before he even realized what he was doing, Steve put his hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Hey. You okay?"

Danny looked up, surprised by the gesture, and for the first time in almost a decade Steve couldn't tell if it was gratitude or anger that he saw reflected on his face. Those blue eyes he had always been able to read so easily suddenly seemed foreign to him.

"Perfect," he shrugged. "Can't even go to the store without drama following me around."

Steve gave him a puzzled look and Danny, in turn, surprised him by actually explaining himself with an articulate sentence. "7-Eleven over on Bishop. Went in there to get juice for Charlie and ended up in the middle of a marital dispute. This woman, she... she was screaming her head off, yelling at her husband who apparently beats her up every other day. So I tried to calm her down, convince her to press charges, and when I was about to put the cuffs on the guy she jumped me saying she'd changed her mind and threatened to kill me."

So that was the errand he had mysteriously disappeared for.

"Where is she now?" he asked, grateful that his friend was still standing there talking to him.

"Don't know. Probably on her way to HPD to file a complaint against me. I swear I feel like this day's never going to end..."

The Five-0 leader chuckled. "I know the feeling, pal."

He did. All too well. Men of action didn't do well with paperwork and office tasks.

For one blissful moment, Steve felt like they were back to normal. Two best friends being comfortable with each other. He was about to swallow his pride and apologize to Danny even if he believed he had no reason to when he saw something out the corner of his eye.

A woman coming in through the front doors.

Mid-thirties, with long black hair and distinctive Hawaiian features, she stopped just before the metal detector, eyes darting around like she was looking for someone.

Steve took in her haggard appearance and wondered if it was the same woman Danny had been talking about. Would be one hell of a coincidence, wouldn't it?

Nobody seemed to pay her any attention as she took a few steps forward, clutching a small brown purse between her hands, but Steve didn't let her out of his sight. His instinct told him something was about to go down and it usually never failed.

A kid bumped into her on his way out, and Steve witnessed the sharp glare he received.

Her eyes kept shifting around, edgy and elusive. They briefly locked with his then moved forward, coming to rest on the person next to him. As soon as they did, her lips broke into a sick smile.

The hair on the back of Steve's neck prickled up and a cold knot of fear settled in his gut.

This wasn't good.

The woman reached inside her purse and he realized he needed to take immediate action. Too many civilians around, too many lives at risk. Adrenaline started rushing into his veins and his heart rate began to speed up.

It lasted no more than a few seconds but to him, it felt like a small eternity.

He pushed Danny out of the way just seconds before she fired her weapon and they both fell to the ground, one on top of the other, then he pulled out his own gun and discharged it before anyone could even react.

That was his strength, the very thing that defined him.

That was his calling.

He struggled with words and feelings but could save a life in a heartbeat when it counted, especially if it was his best friend's life.

A haunting silence filled the room. The woman fell to the ground, empty eyes staring back at him, mouth half open in disbelief. Then the spell broke and people started to scream, panicking and scattering erratically towards the emergency exits. Steve winced as he stood up, holding his now aching wrist close against his chest and breathing through the pain that the fall had reawakened in his busted ribs.

"Steve?"

The sound of Danny's shaky voice slowly filled his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. He turned around and offered him his good hand.

"I'm fine," he breathed out as he helped him to his feet.

Danny nodded unconvincingly and looked at the crumpled frame, eyes still wide with shock.

Frank, his own gun raised, knelt in front of her to make sure she was dead while terrified tourists passed him by in a haste to get outside. Steve knew she was gone. No one pointed a gun at his partner and got away with it.

As his heart slowed back to normal and his hand curled around Danny's arm, Junior and Tani came rushing down the stairs, concern written all over their faces. He knew they were going to need answers and a detailed account of the facts, but that could wait.

Danny was his priority right now.

Squeezing his partner's arm, Steve gently guided him out the double doors and away from prying eyes.

* * *

"I didn't even see her..."

The embarrassment in Danny's eyes was hard to miss. He prided himself on being a good cop, a good detective, yet he had failed at spotting and recognizing a threat. Steve knew he was going to beat himself up over this and wished he could do something to comfort him.

"Happened too fast," he muttered, eyes cast downward.

Danny sighed, taking a moment to compose himself, then searched his gaze.

"You saved my life..."

A small smile escaped Steve's lips. "Yeah. I guess I did."

"Thanks."

"No problem. You would've done the same for me," he replied, lifting his head and looking expectantly into his partner's eyes, searching for a sign that the bond they shared wasn't completely damaged, that their friendship could still be saved.

"Of course I would," Danny smiled, and Steve's heart skipped a beat.

That was all he needed to hear.

Unable to control the grin that spread across his face, Steve pulled him into a hug. His embrace was strong, warm and protective, and despite his sore ribs it soothed him more than any medicine ever would.

Heart fluttering at the feeling of Danny's body pressed against his he held on tight, relishing the feeling of lean, hard muscle against his own.

It felt right, being in his arms, and he felt more alive than he had been in days.

* * *

He did make a difference, after all.

If he hadn't been in the lobby, called away from his desk for reasons he never got the chance to learn, Danny would have probably died.

Steve trusted Frank, just as he trusted his teammates and his fellow cops, but he had made it his priority to always have his partner's back. Even when Danny thought he didn't.

The adrenaline rush might be something to live for, but what he really needed was in front of him every day. An intense, loud-mouthed partner and best friend he wouldn't change for the world.

THE END

This was the prompt:

_A & B are at odds, not talking to each other, until something happens and one saves the other's life._


	3. Cold Comfort

**Cold Comfort **

A/N: Here's story #3. Steve, Danny, and a stainless steel door between them.

I have two more fics ready for this series but I just finished writing this one and I think it deserves priority. Hopefuly you guys will agree.

As usual, you'll find the prompt that inspired this one at the end.

I still own nothing, and this is just for pleasure.

P.S. I have received a few interesting prompts so far, and this gives me the opportunity to say that if you have an idea for a prompt you're welcome to comment or message me about it and if I like it and think I can do a good job with it I will use it for one of the next stories.

* * *

"How's he doing?" Steve asked, tension rolling off of him in tight, palpable waves.

Lou Grover cast his gaze downwards. "Not good. We need to get him out of there, man, he's not gonna last long," he said somberly, pointing to the industrial freezer room that had trapped one of their own and turned an uneventful day into a nightmare.

Steve's hands curled into fists at his sides. Of all the team members it just had to be Danny –the antsy, claustrophobic one who couldn't sit still for more than five minutes.

"What's Akana saying?"

"Nothing. He's saying nothing. I've tried everything, but he's not talking."

Lou knew that 'everything' meant Steve had already resorted to threats and bodily harm, and he almost felt bad for the guy. Hell hath no fury like a scared, pissed off McGarrett.

"What the hell is taking them so long?"

"I don't know, man," the former SWAT Captain replied, shaking his head. "Let me find out."

Steve watched him leave, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, heading towards the stainless steel door that separated him from his best friend.

"Danny? Hey, buddy, I'm back," he called out. "Danny?"

"Right here," came the strained, shaky voice from inside. "What's the, uh... what's the word?"

"We're waiting for the bomb squad. Lou just went to get an update." He heard a sound, as if someone had just punched a fist through a wall. "You alright?"

"No. No, I'm not alright. It's cold, and it's tight and my head hurts... I need to get out of here."

"Working as fast as we can, buddy."

Thirty minutes had already come and gone, a whole half hour that had held no results or progress whatsoever.

The old 'divide and conquer' technique had blindsided Five-0 right after storming inside a storage facility, and the next thing he knew McGarrett was staring in horror at the explosive rigging the freezer's door.

The door that had locked Danny in.

One of the perps was still at large, the other uncooperative. And the current room temperature of 0°F didn't allow them the luxury of time they so desperately needed.

"How's the wound?" he asked, trying to keep the concern out of his voice.

"Not bleeding anymore," Danny replied through the comm link after checking the makeshift bandage he had applied to his limb, and for a moment they both sighed in relief. He swallowed harshly against the dryness in his mouth and paused, long enough to come to the same realization that had just hit his friend on the other side of the door. "My whole arm is numb, I can barely feel it. That's bad, isn't it?"

Steve closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

Yes, it was bad, but he wasn't ready to acknowledge it out loud.

"That's the cold, buddy. I bet the rest of your body doesn't feel great either. Don't worry, we're gonna get you out of there soon."

He glared at the device, wishing he could rip it off and tear it to pieces. It reminded him of the homemade bomb Ray Gardner had used to trap them inside the quarantine ward at King's and before that, of the proximity sensor-triggered explosive Hasan Farooq had strapped to himself to take out as many innocent civilians as he could.

Both times, it had been Danny's life on the line.

Both times, they'd barely rescued him in time.

"Wanna know what's frustrating?"

"What?"

"I can't even blame you this time, you weren't even there. It's my screw-up."

Steve's heart lurched painfully in his chest, the ever-present guilt flaring up at his friend's words.

"I should've been there," he admitted out loud. "It's my screw-up as well."

Danny couldn't see him, but he knew how his partner's mind worked all too well. "Don't go all glum on me, alright? There's nothing you could've done."

"It should've been me."

"And what would that have accomplished, huh? Besides a role reversal with me on the other side of this door."

"I would've found a way out."

Despite the FUBAR situation he was currently in, Danny laughed. "That's rich, SuperSEAL, even for you. You would have found a way out? With what? You got bullets that can pierce through steel? Or a laser beam to melt it?"

No comment made it past the lump in Steve's throat.

"Didn't think so. You could've done nothing either."

"I was trained for stuff like this, Danny."

"Yes, you were. Twenty years ago. Now you're just as vulnerable to extreme cold as I am, maybe even more."

Steve sighed, the unspoken reference to his deteriorating health reminding him once again how much the job had taken from him over the years.

He hadn't complained.

Not once.

Learned to adjust and live with it.

But if the job took Danny away from him...

"Have you ever... have you ever been through something like this?"

His best friend's voice shook him away from his dark thoughts. "No," Steve admitted. "But I've spent enough time in 100-degree weather to tell you that it's not a walk in the park either."

There was no reply from inside the room, and the Five-0 leader's heart skipped a beat. "Danny?" His fist started banging on the stainless steel door before his mind could even try and stop it. "Danny?"

"Still here. I'm tired, man, I just… I just had to sit down..." Fatigue had slipped into his tone as well, one of the first signs of hypothermia that Steve immediately recognized. Standing there, waiting for the next symptom on the list without being able to do a damn thing about it was pure hell.

A hell he could hardly cope with.

Jaw set, face grim, he turned around with every intention to do whatever it took to get things done and nearly collided with Lou who —bless him, had brought matters into his own hands and all but dragged the bomb squad expert right up to him.

"What's the word, Powell?"

"Not good, Commander," the EOD technician replied. He had already donned his protective gear and was staring at the homemade device with a frown on his face. "As you know, mercury switches are very tough to defuse. We have to be extremely careful or the whole thing will blow."

Steve pinned him with an icy glare, not liking where the man was going. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it's gonna take a while to disarm this thing."

Biting his bottom lip, he instinctively turned towards the door, wondering if Danny had heard that. He knew enough about explosives to understand that caution was the way to go. Still, he wanted to shake some sense into the guy, urging him to take things a lot more seriously than he apparently was.

Once again, Lou did that for him. "How long is a while?"

"As long as it takes."

"As long as it— listen to me, man, our friend is in there!" the former SWAT Captain replied in disbelief in his deep, baritone voice. "And I'm not sure you've noticed but this is not your regular room, it's a damn freezer, which means if we're lucky we got barely half the time you need so please start working!"

The tech's frown deepened. He looked at Grover, then McGarrett, and nodded his head. "Yes, sir."

* * *

The air was tight inside the storage room.

Or at least, that's how it felt to Danny as he struggled to breathe.

He had tried to push down the panic for as long as he could but was now quickly losing the battle, mostly due to the cold seeping into his body and messing with his brain. His chest felt tight, he couldn't draw air into his lungs and the voice he'd been holding onto, his best friend's voice, was being progressively drowned by the ringing in his ears.

The single vapor-proof fixture above him provided nothing but a dim light. Not that there was anything to see anyway. The ceiling, floor, walls and door were all covered in stainless steel, along with the two empty shelves sitting on his right. Someone had made sure to make his stay as uncomfortable as it could be, and he'd served himself on a silver platter.

Standing up on shaky legs he bent forward, resting his hands on his knees. His skin felt flushed despite the frigid temperature, fear-induced hot flashes tricking his mind into feeling like he was burning up rather than freezing.

"Danny? Danny, answer me, dammit!"

Steve's voice emerged from the haze and Danny latched onto it again.

"St—Steve?"

"Yeah, buddy, right here." On the other side of the door the Five-0 leader sighed in relief, unknowingly mirroring his partner's pose as he tried to lower his heart rate back to normal. "What's going on, huh? Thought I'd lost you there for a moment…"

"It's, uh… you need to hurry up, man, it's warm in here… I'm going to take my shirt off…"

"No no no Danny, don't do it!" Dread gripped Steve's heart in a vise and his heartbeat skyrocketed again. His wild, terrified gaze searched Lou's and he found the same amount of fear in the older man's eyes. "Hey! Listen to me, do _not_ do it! You're not warm, you're just panicking. Just listen to my voice, alright?"

Danny's hands fumbled with the buttons, and it was only due to loss of coordination that he finally gave up his quest to get rid of the oppressive garment. "C'ntrolling son 'f a bitch…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a controlling son of a bitch so you listen to me, alright?"

"A'ight…"

Steve's body visibly deflated and he leaned against the door, not trusting it to keep him upright. "Good. That's' good…" His heart still hammered wildly inside his chest, and even the bomb tech who was feverishly working beside him glanced up in his direction to make sure he was okay.

A brief look at his watch told him it was now 43 minutes since Danny had been locked into the walk-in freezer. They were entering that dangerous territory where every minute counted, where even the slightest delay could make a difference between life and death.

He looked around, lost, wondering for the umpteenth time if there was something else they hadn't considered, another way in that would've saved them time. There wasn't. With walls and door four-to-six-inches thick, breaching into the cold storage was virtually impossible.

Still, Steve was determined to find it. In his mind, there was no scenario in which Danny wasn't coming home. The word 'impossible' had no meaning for him. He ran a hand through his hair and started pacing, racking his brain in a desperate attempt to find a solution.

"Can we move it?" he asked the tech a minute later as he watched him cut yet another colored wire. One of the green lights on the device stopped blinking and then turned out altogether.

The man let out a breath and nodded in appraisal. "What do you mean?"

"The bomb. Can we move it?"

"I would advise against it. I've disabled the motion sensors but there's a good amount of plastic explosive here, not to mention those mercury switches will trigger detonation if tilted beyond a certain angle or subjected to vibration."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest, nailing him with a '_I dare you_' look. "I'm not asking for your advice, I'm asking if it can be done."

"Yes."

"Then do it. There's another walk-in unit upstairs, I'm gonna bring it there and lock it inside."

"Steve..." Lou warned. That was the kind of McGarrett crazy he'd never gotten used to— the desperate, last-resort plan of someone who refused to settle for anything less than what was needed.

"Commander, this is a really bad idea..."

Steve agreed with that statement. There were so many ways the plan could backfire— literally. "But it's the only one we've got. Danny has no time, we need to get him out." He looked at the bomb tech with a resolve that was both frightening and inspiring. "Tell your boys to suit me up."

"...dn't let'm do it..." the frayed, slurred voice coming from inside the freezer stopped all three men in their tracks.

"What's that?" Steve asked, moving closer and leaning forward so that his ear almost rested on the stainless steel surface. "What'd you say, Danny?"

"Don't...do it," Danny repeated, putting as much strength and conviction in his words as he could to make his point across. "Don't need your... death on my conscience."

The former SEAL shook his head in frustration.

_Shit._

Of course his friend had listened.

"Danny…"

"Not… debatable. One of us needs to s-stay alive."

That was exactly what Steve, as the team leader, was trying to make sure of. Do whatever he had to do to protect his family. And Danny had so much to live for… "You still got your shirt on in there, pal?"

The blond detective looked down as if to make sure, shivering as he did so. His body had been shaking uncontrollably for the last few minutes, trying to generate as much heat as possible. "Yeah. You were right, it wasn't... I'm cold, man. So cold..."

Steve closed his eyes. "I know, buddy, I know. We're doing everything we can."

He considered ignoring his partner's request and going on with his plan, give in to the overwhelming urge to do something – anything, to get rid of the nauseating feeling of helplessness he was experiencing.

They had run out of options.

Danny was running out of time.

Beside him, the bomb tech was still hard at work, sweating into his protective gear as he felt the weight of the life-or-death situation on his shoulders.

"Never thought I'd... die like this..." Danny admitted in a half slur that sent Steve's heart sinking.

"You're not gonna die, you hear me? It's_ not_ gonna happen," he snapped, the frustration he was feeling making his words sound harsher than they were. He regretted it a second later as tears filled his eyes, overwhelmed with the ache to touch his friend, hold him, reassure him. "Come on, tough Jersey skin like yours, what's a little cold? Grover here says it's like winter in Chicago so I'm thinking home shouldn't be that different, right?"

"This is… home now. Ten years of sunshine have k-kicked the tough out of me..."

"I'm proud of you, buddy. Took you long enough to finally call Hawaii home."

Danny would never say it out loud but the days of complaining about everything and anything on the island were long gone. There were places and people that had changed his mind, and it hurt to think he would no longer see them. He was under no illusion. His chances of survival were dropping with each passing minute, and the possibility of actually getting out of there alive was almost nonexistent. Still, one last plea escaped his lips. "Get me out of here, man..." he breathed out as he sat down on the floor again and slumped weakly against the wall behind him.

The pained, desperate words hung in the air between them.

In almost ten years of partnership, Steve had never heard his partner sound like this— helpless, wrecked, defeated. Not even after Grace's accident. It cut him to the core, dredging up feelings he was not ready to handle or display for everyone to see.

"It's okay, Danny, we're almost done."

"You've never been good at… lying to me," came the feeble reply from the other side of the door. Drowsiness was slowly taking over, and unbeknownst to his conscious mind, he had already stopped shivering. Sliding further down, Danny laid on his side near the door on the cold pavement, instinctively curling up into a ball.

Maybe if he only closed his eyes a little…

"Steve…"

"Yeah."

"Make.. s-sure Charlie doesn't f-forget me..."

* * *

"Commander, we got the other suspect!"

Steve almost jumped at the unexpected voice coming through his comm link.

Junior.

On his quest to get Danny to safety, he had completely forgotten about the rest of his team.

"Where is he?" he asked in a flat monotone, features darkening at the thought of one of the men responsible for his friend's predicament.

"Outside, Sir. We just pulled up."

"Steve," Adam intercepted, urgency in his tone. "He's the one who built the bomb."

A dangerous glint lit Steve's eyes. "I'll be right out." He walked back towards the door that held his friend captive and banged his fist onto it. "Hey, Danny? I'm gonna step out for a little bit but Lou's right here, buddy, alright? He's gonna keep you company until I get back."

There was no answer from inside and the two men exchanged a worried glance.

Steve, torn between the urge to get his hands on the perp and the need to stay by his partner's side, nervously shuffled on his feet until Grover encouraged him to go. There was nothing he could do for Danny anyway, but maybe the guy could provide them with answers or a way to get out of this mess.

With renewed strength, he stalked out of the building and towards the SUV where their suspect was waiting. Opening the back door in one swift move, he took in the rapidly-forming bruises around the man's eye and jawline— a telltale sign that his teammates had already made sure he'd be compliant— then yanked him out and slammed him against the side of the vehicle, pressing his forearm against his throat and effectively cutting out most of his air supply.

"Listen to me, and listen very carefully," he hissed in a dangerously low, cold voice that made the guy squirm uncomfortably in his grasp. "The person I care about the most in the _whole_ planet is inside that freezer, so you're gonna tell me how to defuse this bomb right now or I swear to god I'm gonna put a bullet in your head."

Without loosening his grip, his right hand reached for the SIG at his side and he jabbed it into the man's temple, the barrel scraping against his bruised skin.

"No one's gonna question me for that, no one will care. Five-0 has immunity and means, which means I can dispose of you however I please and let me tell you, man, I've been a soldier. I know how to inflict pain. Torture. I know a dozen different ways to kill a man just with my bare hands. And if my friend dies in there I promise you, you're gonna wish you were never born."

Hazel eyes, flashing with fury, bore into the criminal's soul, forcing him to look away under the intensity of the Commander's stare.

"I need to open that door. _Right now_."

Struggling to get air into his starved lungs like a fish out of water, the guy nodded furiously in acceptance. He'd do whatever was needed. Just as long as he could breathe.

Satisfied, though not nearly at ease, Steve dragged him unceremoniously inside the storage unit and up to the freezer door where the EOD technician was still busy at work.

"He built the bomb. He's gonna tell you how to defuse it."

Looking up through the visor of his protective helmet, the tech was unable to hide his surprise at the unexpected turn of events but gladly accepted the help.

Lou, his big frame hunched as he made arrangements through his phone, wasn't surprised at all. He quickly ended the call with a 'thank you' and approached his leader.

"EMS are on standby," he informed him. "I figured you were gonna speed things up."

Steve nodded curtly. "How's Danny?"

The older man shook his head. "Still no answer."

The statement sent the former SEAL into a spiral of panic.

It couldn't end like this, not when they were so close...

He wanted to scream, to break something, be it bones in the perp's body or the concrete walls surrounding him. Lash out at the injustice of life that threatened to take away the only person that mattered to him.

He had barely survived Joe's passing.

He wouldn't survive Danny's.

"Done," the bomb tech announced a few minutes later.

Steve's eyes widened. "Is it safe?"

"Yes."

Muttering a 'thank god' and nodding to Junior and Adam to collect the piece of thrash that had turned his worst fear into a reality, the Five-0 leader sprinted into action. Threat neutralized, he wasted no time opening the freezer's door while calling his partner's name.

"Danny? It's over, buddy, we're coming in!"

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. When they did, he stared in riveting horror at the unmoving shape curled up on the cold pavement.

"Danny?" he tried again, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. Behind him, Lou Grover quickly threw the stainless steel door open the rest of the way and followed him inside, shivering at the freezing air that assaulted them as they got in.

Steve didn't even feel it.

Drawing shuddering, terrified breaths, he stumbled backwards and shook his head in denial, trembling fingers clamping over his mouth.

Danny's face was ashen, his lips blue. He was unconscious and not shivering, a sign that his body had begun to shut down.

"No no no no... come on, Danny... come on..." he pleaded, dropping to his knees before his friend. He reached out a hand to check for a pulse and recoiled as if burned at the feeling of the ice-cold skin under his touch.

A desperate "Not yet… please don't do it..." escaped his lips as he tried again, shaky fingers running all over his best friend's body, desperate to feel a pulse. "No one's dying here today, you hear me? We got you, you're gonna be alright..."

And as Lou rushed the paramedics towards his fallen teammate, his own eyes glued to the scene in front of him, he hoped against hope that Steve was right.

* * *

"When is Danno gonna wake up, Uncle Steve?"

"I don't know, Charlie," Steve sighed, shifting in his seat by the side of Danny's hospital bed.

How was he going to explain this to a six-year old?

He had no idea what Rachel had told him about his father's condition and didn't want to frighten the child with bad news. It had been bad enough for him to wrap his own mind around it. "You know when you have a fever and you feel tired and really, really cold?" he said, hoisting him up to sit on his lap.

The boy nodded, his expression serious.

"Well, Danno got a bad cold so he needs his rest to get better."

Charlie seemed to consider the answer, his gaze shifting back and forth from his father to his uncle. "Can we stay here a little longer?"

A smile spread across Steve's face. "Of course we can." He hadn't moved in three days. Three long, excruciating days. He certainly wasn't going to leave him now. "Hey, why don't you tell him about your soccer game? I hear you did great."

Charlie's eyes grew wide. "He can hear me?"

"He can," the former SEAL reassured him, tousling the boy's hair. "And I bet he's looking forward to hearing all about it."

"Okay." Charlie hesitantly walked up to the bed and squealed in delight when he noticed his father's eyes were open. "Danno!"

Steve shot to his feet at the child's shrill cry of surprise and was beside him in an instant. And sure enough, Danny's blue eyes were staring straight at him. Swallowing against a suddenly parched throat, he placed a gentle hand on top of his best friend's one. "Hey... you're awake," he breathed out, trying to keep the shakiness out of his voice.

"Yeah," Danny replied hoarsely, a tender smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gave Steve's hand a squeeze. "Been watching you guys. Didn't want to ruin the moment..."

Steve ducked his head, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

A moment later, he felt another squeeze.

Unsure, relieved, and even a little lost, he looked up again to meet his partner's gaze.

It was equally bright.

There was a lot that they wanted to say as they stared at each other, but with Charlie happily nestled between them they could only let their eyes speak.

'_Thank you for not leaving me.'_

'_Thank you for having my back.'_

'_Always.'_

"Danno, I scored two goals!"

Both partners smiled at the boy's ill-timed, excited share.

"You did? That's fantastic! I'm proud of you, buddy." Danny reached out and put his arm around his son's shoulders, drawing him close and placing a kiss on the top of his head. The room started to spin slightly as he moved and he closed his eyes, suppressing a groan.

Steve straightened up, ready for action. "I'll go get the doctor."

Danny shook his head and shifted a little higher in his bed. "No, wait, I'm alright. Just... a few more minutes?" he said, nodding in Charlie's direction. He had come too damn close to losing his family. Right now, he needed their presence more than he needed sleep or meds.

Steve acquiesced and helped the boy onto Danny's bed before resuming his position in the chair next to them.

The blond detective gave him a grateful smile, then focused back to his son. "Two goals, huh? I think Uncle Steve and I need to hear all about it, what do you say?"

And for the next several minutes, the child's happy voice became the only sound resonating inside the hospital room.

THE END

This was the prompt:

_A is stuck in a freezing place and getting weaker by the minute due to cold and/or injuries. Over the comm, B tries his best to keep him awake and make him talk until help arrives (door's rigged with explosives/bomb, they have to defuse it before opening it), but it's too hard for him. And then his words are too weak and slurred and don't make sense anymore. And at some point he just stops responding to him. _


	4. A Call For Help

**A Call for Help**

A/N: First off, let me say thank you to all the guests who have reviewed these stories so far. I can't thank you guys properly but I am grateful for your comments.

Also thanks to everyone who suggested ideas for future stories. I have saved a few and will hopefully work on them once I finish mine. You're welcome to suggest more, I'm always looking for something good to write about.

Here's story number four, betaed by the lovely and always helpful Ginsteer.

This is actually the first one I wrote, the one that gave me the idea to start a series. It's not really original, but I couldn't resist the prompt! A phone rings on a warm Hawaiian night: what could have possibly gone wrong?

* * *

Consciousness came slowly, gradually awakening him from the oblivion he had fallen into.

With it came pain, and Steve frowned at the sharp ache radiating from his left leg. It felt wrong, as if it had no place bothering him tonight.

He shifted slightly, groaning as he did so. His body felt heavy, and the smallest movement sparked a bout of dizziness so severe he stilled, waiting for it to pass before opening his eyes to the eerie darkness of a Hawaiian night. A warm breeze blew around him. It felt out of place too, and the throbbing in his head only added to the confusion and the uncertainty of his whereabouts.

Had he fallen asleep in the backyard?

No, it couldn't be. There were rocks and dirt under him instead of sand and soft grass.

Glancing upwards, he gazed at the night sky, at the multitude of stars shining in different shapes and size. Perhaps it was the haze clouding his mind, but they seemed brighter than ever. The familiar shape of Orion, with its four bright stars at the corners and a row of three in the middle, stared back at him. Steve smiled groggily at the sight, as if it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, until whatever injury he had sustained to his leg made him painfully aware that he should focus on something else.

He had somewhere to be… didn't he? He was not supposed to be laying there, wherever 'there' was, but even thinking seemed to hurt and the harder he tried the less his mind played along.

Pressing one hand on the uneven terrain he tried to get up and immediately regretted it when a spike of pain coursed through his skull, making his awareness wane momentarily. He cried out and fell sideways, grabbing at his throbbing head and curling up on his side.

The crushing feeling of his skull being held in a vicious grip lasted a few, miserable moments, then the fog gradually lifted. Steve wiped the sweat from his forehead and collapsed back onto the ground, breathing heavily.

Trying to move as little as possible, he attempted to assess his condition. Besides the splitting headache, the only other source of pain was his leg. With barely enough light to see what was in front of him, he relied on his touch to carefully inspect the area, determining the cause was a gunshot. He couldn't feel an exit wound though, meaning the bullet was still inside.

A bullet he had no idea what he'd done to earn.

He was supposed to… _what_? What was the last thing he remembered?

Gritting his teeth, he stretched his uninjured leg out and reached for his pocket, relieved to find his cell phone right where it was supposed to be.

_Danny… call Danny._

_Danny would know what to do…_

Bloodstained fingers tapped the screen, searching for his best friend's name and pushing the buttons by pure muscle memory. It took him longer than usual, and when he eventually managed to make the call Steve pressed the phone to his ear and closed his eyes, waiting – _hoping_ Danny would pick up.

"Hey, where the hell are you? Dinner's almost ready!"

Relief washed over him at the sound of his partner's voice and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"...Steve? You there? Steve?"

He cleared his throat, hoping to sound better than he felt. "Danny..."

On the other end of the line Danny stilled, recognizing the pain in the other man's tone. Nine years of defying death and being on the receiving end of distressing phone calls had enhanced his ability to sense danger on the spot. "Steve? What is wrong, you alright?"

"I'm... I don't know..."

"What you mean you don't know? Where are you? What happened?"

Steve wished he had answers to that. It had been ten, fifteen minutes since he'd regained consciousness and he still didn't have a clue. "Not...sure. Just...woke up."

The soft sound he could hear in the background suddenly stopped. Was it music? Was Danny listening to music? "Woke u— Steve, you're not making any sense!"

"H-head hurts..."

Danny ran a hand through his hair, worry mounting with each distressed moan and broken word his friend managed to mutter. "Was it an accident? Were you in an accident?" He had always thought the Silverado was big and sturdy enough to protect him in case of a collision, but with Steve's tendencies to get into trouble even while on a coffee run only an armored tank would probably do the job.

"I, uh... don't know." _Accident? Was he in an accident?_ A light briefly illuminated his surroundings and he tried to move again to see if he could spot something that would help Danny pinpoint his location. Again, nausea flared up and pain exploded in his head. "I can't...aargh, can't move..."

"I'm on my way. Stay on the phone with me, all right?"

A jumble of confusing images — people, places — flashed through his brain. "There were...men."

"Men? What men? You were just going to the store, Steve, what happened?"

"'m not sure..." he admitted. Memories kept slipping from his mind every time he tried to grasp them. "I r'member parking the truck... walking to the s-store... then nothing. Woke up... here. Don't know where here is..." His hand pressed on the wound and his heart sank at the realization that blood was still flowing freely from it, saturating his pants at much too steady a rate. "Don't feel so good, Danny..."

Danny was now officially worried. No, scratch that – panicking. Any thought of dinner forgotten, he hurried to the living room and grabbed his keys from the table by the door. "Are you hit?"

"'m I hit..."

"Steve! Hey, focus! Blood, do you see any blood?"

He sure did. Too much of it. He figured he'd live long enough to hurt like hell, and hopefully until Danny came for him.

"Leg. Can't really...move."

"It's alright, I'll find you. You just stay on the line."

Swallowing hard, Danny looked around for a moment as if lost. He knew he needed to call for help, trace Steve's phone or whatever, but was terrified to lose the connection so he held onto it and rushed outside, heading for the car.

"Danny..."

"I'm here, buddy, just stay with me..."

Sliding inside the Camaro, he revved the engine and put both hands on the wheel, ready to peel out with flashers on and siren blaring towards… _where_? He had no idea where to go, which direction to take. How could he help him if he didn't know where he was?

"Steve, listen to me, I need to know where you are, alright? I need you to tell me where you are."

As if it was that easy. As if he hadn't been trying since he had opened his eyes. "It's dark..." he started, 'cause that was the most obvious thing to share.

"You inside or outside?"

"Out...outside."

Danny couldn't decide if that was a good or a bad thing. Putting the call on speaker, he sent a quick text to Jerry to ping Steve's phone before focusing back on his partner. He needed to keep him awake, engage him in conversation. "Okay, what do you see? What's around you?"

The fleeting light he had noticed earlier came back and for a few moments he was able to see more clearly. Rocks. Shrubs. Scrawny, ghost-like trees looming around him, their branches swaying in sync with the breeze. "Trees..."

_Fuck._

Smacking the steering wheel in frustration, Danny tried to hide the panic in his voice. "You see trees... alright, what kind of trees?" That didn't help. Not in the slightest. The whole fucking island was filled with trees. "I need you to narrow it down for me, buddy, alright?"

"Can't..." Tightening his grip on the cell phone for fear of dropping it, Steve shifted his weight and scooted over to his left, propping himself up against one of the trees. Dizziness hit him almost immediately. His vision blurred and he closed his eyes, breathing through tight lips.

"Come on, you're the Boy Scout of America, I'm sure you know every tree on this island so which one is it?"

"Mmmhhhmm..."

Danny shook his head. It wasn't working. Steve was obviously in a great deal of pain, he needed to do something soon or it would be too late. "McGarrett! You're a SEAL, come on, put those damn Navy skills to use. Look around and tell me where you are!"

"Okay... 'm sorry, Danny..."

The broken voice on the other end of the line almost undid him. "Nothing to be sorry about. Just... just tell me where you are."

Blood continued to leak under Steve's fingers, the coppery smell making him even more nauseous. He knew it wouldn't be long until he started feeling just how much he was losing, and he hoped to be able to give Danny the details he needed before he passed out. "There's a...light. Comes and goes..."

"A light? Alright, trees and a light. What else?"

"I... I can hear the ocean."

"The ocean... that's good, buddy, that's really good," Danny said with more confidence than he actually felt as he pulled a U-turn, heading towards the coastline. He still had nothing useful to go with, and the voice in his head telling him to put the call on hold and dial 911 was growing more and more insistent. — _Wait a sec... could it be?_ "Steve, is it a lighthouse? Steven!"

"A lighthouse..." Steve repeated as his brain finally made the connection.

"That a yes? Is it a lighthouse that you see? Are you near one?"

"Y-yes..." Cradling the phone between his shoulder and chin, Steve used his belt as a tourniquet to try and stop the blood flow. Fine tremors started to course through his body as he tightened it above the wound and he couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips. Hopefully, what little information he'd managed to give Danny was enough to help him.

"Good. That's great," Danny nodded. That was good. He could work with that. "See, you helped me. That's really good."

Since they'd moved on the island, Grace had been fascinated with lighthouses. The peculiar shape and their purpose to guide ships back to shore had tickled her natural curiosity and she had started to ask question after question. Danny, being the good, doting father that he was, had indulged his little girl and driven her on a tour of Oahu's most famous beacons never once thinking that one day, that knowledge would've come in handy and hopefully save his partner's life. Out of the two closest locations to the store Steve had never made it to, only the Diamond Head Lighthouse had some vegetation around it.

"I did good..."

"Yes, you did, buddy. I'm coming to get you." Pressing on the accelerator, Danny weaved the Camaro through the evening traffic at a speed he'd spent years complaining about. This time it didn't matter. This time Steve's life was already on the line.

"'m tired, Danny... I need to... r-rest for a while." His voice had a hoarse note in it now, and he was forced to pause repeatedly to draw in breaths.

"No no no, stay awake, you hear me? No sleep! You wait until I get there!"

"Mmmhhhmm..."

_No way. _

SuperSEAL was _not_ admitting defeat.

"Stay awake, Steven! I mean it, I need you to stay awake!"

Steve looked up at the sky, at the stars he could barely see through his blurred vision and the haze growing thicker in his head. "'m trying..."

"No trying! You just do it. You're a soldier, just use one of your tricks and hold on until I find you, okay?"

"Okay..."

He was a soldier.

He'd been through worse.

He could do it.

For Danny.

"Steve, listen to me: I'm gonna put you on hold so I can call for backup, alright? Do _not_ end the call, you hear me? Stay on the line. I'm gonna call an ambulance and then I'll be right back with you, okay? Steve! You understand me?"

"Yeah... stay on the l-line..."

"Good. You do that, you stupid son of a bitch, and you're gonna be alright." A lump of emotion welled up in Danny's throat and he shook his head to stop the tears from falling. If they had told him that the stubborn, crazy SEAL he'd met ten years before would become the most important person in his life he would've laughed and called whoever said it an idiot. Now, the mere thought of losing him hurt so badly he immediately chased it away.

"'s okay, Danny..."

"No, it's not, but it will be. I'm gonna be there soon, alright? Just...stay on the line."

As soon as he heard the sound of the call being placed on hold Steve sighed and leaned his head back against the trunk. He wasn't sure he had the strength to hold the device much longer, so he put it on speaker and lowered his arm down to rest on his uninjured thigh.

His partner's distraught tone still echoed in his ears.

Maybe he should've apologized for scaring him again— not that he had meant it, at least this time, and based on his injuries it may not have even been his fault.

But Danny wasn't mad at him, was he? He'd promised he was on his way.

Only Steve had no more energy to spare. His leg had thankfully gone numb but his head still hurt like hell, and if the increased heart rate and breathing were any indication, he was going to pass out soon.

Focusing on anything beyond a couple of feet away was an effort in itself, and without Danny's voice to keep him awake Steve slowly started giving in to the darkness that was beckoning him. He closed his eyes, and as he began to doze he thought he heard his friend's voice again, yelling at him to answer the phone. His final thought before it all faded to black was a mental apology for leaving him hanging.

Minutes later, the Camaro screeched to a halt in front of the closed gate of the Diamond Head lighthouse. Danny jumped out of the vehicle and started calling Steve's name, over and over, not really expecting him to answer but trying nonetheless. Jerry – God bless Jerry, who spent his evenings at home surrounded by technology, had tracked the phone in record time, confirming the location.

Aided by the flashlight he always kept in the trunk courtesy of his partner's obsession with always being prepared, he frantically searched the area and eventually spotted him in a ditch on the other side of the road, slumped against a tree in a half-sitting position, eyes closed.

His face was ghostly white in the moonlight, and greasy with sweat, yet Danny was relieved to see he was still breathing. Rapid, shallow pants that were far from encouraging, and he hoped Jerry had conveyed enough urgency and authority in his call to get help there as fast as possible.

"Steve! Hey, what'd I tell you about sleeping? Wake up!" He crouched next to him with bated breath, noticing the phone still cradled in his right hand while the left was clamped over the wound in a weak attempt to stop the blood flow. Danny carefully moved it aside and examined the tourniquet he had applied, doing his best to ignore the sticky, red liquid staining his pants and pooling under him. The leak had slowed to a minimum, but he could feel how cold his friend was from the shock that had set in because of the blood loss. "That's it, open your eyes," he urged when he saw Steve's eyelids flutter. "I'm here, it's over. You're gonna be alright."

Steve blinked sluggishly at him. "Danny…"

Moving to reach beneath him, Danny sat down on the ground, shifting Steve's body to cradle him protectively against his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. "I'm here, it's alright."

"L-leg..."

"I know it hurts, babe. EMS are gonna be here soon."

"You found me..." Steve whispered, curling his lips until a flash of pain wiped the smile off his face.

"I did," Danny replied, trying not to focus on the grey pallor of his friend's face and the hint of blue on his lips. "I'll always find you. No matter what happens, or how far you go, I'll always find you."

"S-same..."

The promise, an agreement they'd honor until their last breath, was carried by the breeze through the night sky for no one but them to hear, along with the sound of emergency sirens blessedly reaching their ears.

THE END

This was the prompt:

_A wakes up, wounded and disoriented. He doesn't know where he is and calls B._

_B tries to calm A through the phone and get him to say where he is so he can help him._


	5. The Right Thing

**The Right Thing**

A/N: Here's story number five. Steve, Danny and a tac vest.

I do not own the show or its characters. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

"What is this?"

"What you mean what is this? It's a vest. Take it."

"It's _your_ vest. Why are you giving me your vest?"

"Because we never put the stuff back in the trunk and there's bad guys shooting at us," Steve replied, looking almost affronted by the ridiculous question. The Camaro had undergone massive repairs after a collision with an armored truck and they'd had to take all the gear and equipment out. Danny had just retrieved it from the shop to meet Steve so there simply hadn't been enough time to load everything back in, and Steve wasn't going to let that mess with his partner's safety. Even if it meant lying to him. "Plus, I have another one in my truck, if you must know. So take it. Alright?"

He didn't, of course, but knew it was the only way Danny would agree to wear it.

He was the Navy SEAL after all. The high-end special operator for the US Government. He knew what he was doing.

Danny reluctantly grabbed the tac vest but didn't move, crossing instead his arms over his chest and eyeing the Silverado as if it had run over his favorite dog.

"What?"

"What what?"

"What are you doing?" Steve asked as he checked his gun and clipped the ear comm to his shirt.

Danny shrugged, unperturbed. "I'm waiting. For you to put your _other_ vest on. We're partners, remember? I go where you go."

_Really?_ Of all times and places, Danny had decided to be a pain in the ass _right now_?

"Danny, you don't need to wait for me. I'll be right behind." He moved towards the truck to grab the assault rifle, hoping his partner would take the hint and join the rest of the team.

"Uh-uh. I know you, Steven. I know all your mind tricks so don't even think for a second that I will fall for it. We're not going anywhere until I see you strapped on."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Danny there's no ti—" Their bantering was suddenly cut short by the sound of gunshots filling the air. "Go! Go! Go!" he yelled, flicking off the rifle's safety and chambering a bullet.

Tani's frantic voice came over the comm link a moment later. "McGarrett, we're under fire!"

Half the team was inside the building.

They needed backup.

Steve's gaze zeroed in on his partner, urging him to move. "Tani, stay put, Danny's coming over! Junior, what's your 20?"

"South-east corner, Sir. Trying to move forward but there's hostiles on both sides."

"Hold your position, I'll be right there."

Danny started to leave but stopped after a few steps as if held by an invisible thread and turned around.

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

"Be careful."

Steve nodded, and as soon as he saw him disappear towards the back of the building sprinted in the opposite direction, rushing towards the main entrance. Gun raised, he briefly paused at the door before going in. The warehouse was now silent, but he knew it was only temporary.

"How many?" he whispered to Junior, spotting him to his right.

"Five so far, Sir," the younger SEAL replied.

"Tani?"

"Three on our side. Clipped one, so make that two."

"Copy that."

He advanced slowly, careful not to make a sound. Eight assailants armed to the teeth. This was no coincidence. Someone must've tipped them off about the raid.

A shuffling noise suddenly drew his attention and he dove out of the way of an onslaught of bullets, rolling behind a wooden crate just in time before they hit his position.

_Shit_.

That was close.

"Junior, incoming!" he warned as more gunshots followed aimed at their general direction.

Huddled behind a shipping crate Steve held his breath, waiting for a break in the gunfire. Senses sharpened with adrenaline, he strained to hear with every ounce of his concentration. Boots squeaked on the pavement to his left and he turned around, spotting a silhouetted figure plastered against the nearby wall. A moment later he saw Junior sneak behind the man and break his neck, snapping it like a twig and dragging the dead body out of the way. Their eyes met, and Steve nodded in appraisal.

One dead, four to go.

Edging forward into the gloomy warehouse, close to the wall, he saw two more targets stationed underneath a metal ladder leading up to the first floor and opened fire. They both grunted in pain and hit the ground before they even realized what had happened.

"Everybody good?" he asked expectantly.

The question was followed by a chorus of positive answers and Steve breathed in relief.

It only lasted a second.

"Commander, two more enemies coming to the right!"

"Roger that, stay low!"

At the same time, a round of bullets coming from the opposite side of the building pierced the air, followed by Danny's distressed voice. "We're pinned down, Steve, what the hell is this?"

Steve's face fell. This _was_ a set up.

"Fall back! Fall back!" he shouted, surprised to see his adversaries advance so quickly and knowing exactly where they were. Fear gripped his heart, his pace quickening as the sound of the gunshots became louder. "Danny! I need a sit-rep now!"

"Two more on our side! This place is a death-trap, we need to get out!"

Eyes narrowing as he wracked his brain for plans of attack and ways out Steve inched deeper, Junior on his six, trying to locate the remaining gunmen. One crept towards him from the left and he took him out with a well-placed bullet to the head, propelling him backwards and onto the cold pavement.

"Stand by! I repeat, stand by!"

He needed to draw the gunmen away from Danny, away from the team. Distract them and gain ground so the rest of 5-0 could get to safety.

Aware of the vulnerability that came with not wearing a vest, he allowed his younger teammate to pass him and take the lead as bullets continued to fly over their heads. Despite what his partner said he valued his life, and only took risks when necessary.

Junior immediately returned fire, hitting another one of their targets.

Six down, two left.

"We're low on ammo, Steve," Danny called out. "Now would be a really good time for one of your crazy plans!"

Steve smiled in spite of himself, glad that his partner never seemed to lose his sense of humor despite the gravity of their situation. "Working on that, partner," he replied as he looked around, trying to find something that could be used to create a diversion.

He found it a second later.

A forklift, its prongs loaded with crates and the keys conveniently in the ignition, sat not too far from him. He could use it to push his way towards the gunmen, allowing Danny and Tani to move from their unsafe position.

Taking a deep breath, he met Junior's eyes, silently asking him to cover him, and bolted towards the machine. Shots whizzed past him, forcing him to duck down a few times, but he managed to slide into the seat and start the engine, directing the forklift and its cargo against the last two threats to his team's safety. Pedal to the floor, SIG in hand, he barreled straight at them and took the first one out with practiced ease. The other tried to take cover, firing blindly in his direction as he did so.

Briefly taking his hands off the wheel to replace his empty clip, Steve reloaded his gun and shot him in the chest, killing him instantly.

Silence descended on the warehouse, so sudden and so deep it was almost deafening.

All gunmen were dead.

His team was safe.

"Steve, all clear on our end, we're coming out. Thanks, buddy." The relief in Danny's voice was like music to his ears and Steve relaxed, slumping over in his seat and releasing a few, long breaths as he closed his eyes.

It was then that he became aware of the burning pain in his upper left arm. It spread down, radiating quickly along the whole limb. Frowning, he stared at the warm trickle of blood seeping out of the wound where one of the bullets had pierced the skin.

"Steve? Steve, do you copy? Steve! Answer me, dammit!"

The grip on his gun got weaker and he grabbed the weapon with his dominant hand, holstering it on his hip.

"Sir, you alright?" Junior's worried tone echoed Danny's over the comm link.

Steve stripped away the fabric of his sleeve to expose the dark hole and moved his arm slightly to take a better look at the wound. It was a through-and-through, thankfully, and although it hurt, the pain was manageable.

"I'm fine," he reassured both, dismissing the injury as minor. "I'll meet you outside."

He lightly pressed his finger against the bluish-purple bruise already forming around the wound and sucked in a sharp breath as pain spiraled all over.

Okay, maybe not _that_ minor.

Cradling his arm to his chest, he slowly made his way out of the warehouse. The adrenaline flooding his system had already started to ebb, leaving a sudden weariness in its wake.

His eyes squinted at the sunlight, narrowing to mere slits. The team was gathered around Danny's car and stripping out of their protective gear as they laughed at something Tani had just said. Steve smiled as well, happy to see them unwind after the intense gunfight.

Blood was still oozing out of the wound, so he bypassed the group and headed towards his truck to retrieve the first-aid kit and take care of it.

"I knew it! I _knew_ you didn't have a spare vest! I swear to you, Steven..."

He cringed at the sound of the voice coming from behind.

_Here we go_.

Steve turned around and settled his uninjured arm on his hip. "Nothing happened, Danny, I'm fine."

"You're fi—" Danny shot him an incredulous look, hands held out in frustration. "Of course! The great Steve McGarrett doesn't need protection, right? Bullets just bounce off of you!"

"Vest wouldn't have made a difference," he said curtly, pointing to his bleeding arm and doing his best to ignore the dull ache that had started at the base of his skull.

"Oh, that's why you didn't wear one. Because you knew you were gonna get hit in the arm!" He started to pace, his angry blue eyes daring Steve to argue his point. "Few centimeters and it would've been your heart! Or your lung! At least have the decency not to lie to me!"

"I'm not lying to you."

"You _told_ me you had a spare one. But why would you need a vest anyway, huh? You didn't almost die a few years ago, or need a piece of my liver to survive! That wasn't you, right?"

"I can't do my job if I'm worried about you, alright?" Steve snapped, the words coming out of his mouth before he'd thought them through. "I can't focus! So yeah, I gave you my vest so I could lead the team and execute the raid. Keep everyone safe." He looked down at his shoes for a moment, clearing his throat. "I'm not sorry. I did what I had to, and I'd do it all over again."

He shook his head in frustration and walked away, leaving his partner and the rest of the team to stare after him.

* * *

Danny found him leaning against the bumper of the Silverado, trying to apply a pressure dressing to his bleeding arm.

"I don't like it," he said, meaning both Steve's self-sacrificing act and the obvious pain etched on his features.

"Danny..." Steve warned.

The blond detective lifted his hand to silence him and gently reached out to help him seal the wound. "I don't like it one bit, but I understand. I just wish you would've told me."

"Nine years, Danny…we can't fight about this all the time. My job…my job is make sure you— the team, gets home every night. You need to accept that."

"Not if it means you get hurt in the process."

Steve shook his head resolutely. "I don't wanna do this again. Not right now. I've told you a thousand times. Gracie and Charlie… they need you. You have a family. A life expectancy. I'm…"

_Expendable. _

"Stop. Right there."

Steve didn't.

"I need to know that you're okay. And until I'm no longer around I'll make damn sure you stay that way."

"Stubborn son of a bitch…" Danny grumbled in exasperation. "We're not done with this, you know. I'm not letting you off the hook for this stupid theory that your life is worth less than mine just because I have kids."

"I'd expect nothing less."

"Let's go. I'm taking you to the hospital. You can have Junior drive the truck back home."

Steve's shoulders slumped and he reluctantly followed his partner to the Camaro.

Danny informed the rest of the team that they were heading out, instructing them to wait for HPD before sliding into the driver's seat, mouth set in a tight line.

One of these days, Steve's stubborn, selfless acts were going to drive him to an early grave, and he was running out of arguments to avoid that.

The former SEAL stood by the open door on the opposite side for a few seconds, then rested one hand on the doorframe and the other on the roof of the car, leaning in. "It was the right thing to do," he stated, the conviction in his voice leaving no doubt about the seriousness of his words.

Danny's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "That's debatable," he said softly as their eyes met. The look they shared spoke of trust, love and understanding. And a care, so big and so deep they didn't know how to express or contain it.

"Get in," he urged after heaving a resigned sigh. "I don't want you to bleed out."

Steve's lips curled upwards and he nodded, sliding into the passenger seat.

The Camaro sped away, tires squealing, the matching smiles of the teammates they had just left behind a definite sign that everything was going to be alright.

THE END

This was the prompt:

_A and B are under fire and have only one tac vest._

_A gives it to B to keep him safe, insisting that he has a spare one he can put on. He lies knowing it's the only way B will agree to wear it._

_Later, A is hit. B is not as concerned knowing he has protection…until he sees the blood. _


	6. Echoes From The Past

**Echoes from the Past**

* * *

A/N: This story wasn't really inspired by a prompt, but from my desire to do something different with the theme. It's a different kind of 'rescue' where no blood is involved – shocker, I know. I like to delve into the psychological side of these characters, the side the show routinely tends to ignore, so I tried a different angle here.

It can be considered sort of a prequel to the scene in 9x25 where Steve and Frank Bama talk about Joe White but don't worry if you haven't watched the finale, you don't need it to understand what happens in the story.

I'd love to hear your thoughts about it so if you like it, or even if you don't, drop me a line.

Susan, thanks again for reading it and supporting me. You rock!

* * *

A bet.

That's how it all started.

A stupid bet he and Danny had come up with during a six-hour stakeout on a boring, ordinary Friday afternoon.

An innocent diversion that had triggered unwanted memories and unleashed without warning feelings buried under months of fakery and denial.

Drawn by his competitive nature, Steve had been unable to resist.

'_Of course I won, Danny. I'll prove it to you.'_

'_What, you got a certification or something?'_

'_For your information yes, I do.'_

'_Alright Mr. Know-it-all. Steaks. Your house. Tomorrow. Fire up the grill, I'll bring the beer. Loser pays for the meat.'_

So Steve had woken up early, gone through his swim/exercise routine, and even indulged in an uncharacteristically caloric breakfast without any clue of what laid ahead.

Satisfied, and in a better mood than he had been in a long while, he'd breathed in the crisp, morning air coming from outside and headed to his father's study to search for the piece of paper that was going to win him a free meal, leaving the lanai door open to let the breeze in.

The bright Hawaiian sun filtered through the room as he moved with practiced ease opening drawers and sorting through piles of neatly stacked files. John McGarrett had been as tidy and organized as Steve was, one of the many things they could've discussed and laughed about over a beer had he not been killed because of Steve's quest to bring the Hesse's brothers to justice.

An open wound that after almost ten years, still bled profusely.

The antique bureau behind the desk stored a lot more stuff he thought it would contain, and Steve started to think that wasting a gorgeous Saturday rifling through papers wasn't a good idea. Maybe he should've called Danny and asked him to bring Charlie along, do something with the kid who loved the outdoors as much as he did.

The thought of the six-year-old who called him uncle and worshipped the ground he walked on put a smile to his face. He was so very lucky to have them in his life.

Distracted by the rush of emotions warming his soul, he grabbed the next stack of papers a little less carefully, causing one of the folders underneath to fall at his feet and its content to spread all over the floor.

"Shit," Steve muttered as he put the documents he was holding back in place and knelt down to retrieve the ones he had dropped. It wasn't really papers, he realized, but pictures. Faded, black & white pictures of his father from his Navy days. Shots of a young John McGarrett in Vietnam, taken during the rare moments of downtime in between battles.

He didn't remember ever looking at them before. Between a job that required his round-the-clock, undivided attention and decades-old issues that had nurtured a love/hate relationship with his dad, he hadn't really spent much time trying to understand the man or getting to know him better. Only recently, in the wake of his own mortality and while working on cases John had struggled to solve during his career, Steve had learned about the passion that drove him and the stubbornness they shared. He could only imagine he had been just as determined to serve his country during the war.

Carefully gathering the pictures, he placed them on the desk and sat down, a mix of curiosity and reverence on his face for being allowed this unexpected glimpse into his father's early years, with his whole life stretched before him, his road unmapped. There John was drinking beer, smoking with his buddies, laughing while cleaning his gun. A day in the life of a soldier. Moments Steve himself had lived countless times during deployment.

He studied the photographs with undivided attention, scanning each face as if those young men could reveal the secrets and details he so desperately needed. What his dad was like, what made him happy, and the one question he kept coming back to: was he proud of his son?

It hadn't been a surprise to realize that all he had ever wanted was his father's approval, his reassurance that he was doing good and that John loved him. The man had always been difficult to read and as emotionally stunted as he was, or used to be before Danny stormed into his life. Growing up, there were no pats on the back for a job well done, no congratulations after a game or a good school report, and that had only gotten worse after Doris' presumed death.

Still, Steve loved him with everything he had, and wished they'd had a chance to spend more time together.

Sighing, he picked another picture and turned it to read the words on the back. Ha Long Bay, 1968. John was basically a kid back then, risking his life for something so much bigger than him.

He remembered the place, he thought as he reached for another photograph. Had heard of its beauty on several occasions from...

Joe White.

Joe White staring at him.

Smiling Joe White, 20 years old or younger, posing in front of the same background.

Steve closed his eyes as memories struck him like a lightning bolt. Sharp, painful memories that cut right through him, ripping his insides as if they were shards of glass. Feelings that he had shoved deep into the layers of his subconscious.

He clutched the photo as tears gathered beneath his eyelids andhis mind filled with the man's voice, hearing him like he was just feet away. Being the father figure that he needed, pushing him to be the best man and soldier he could be, telling him not to wait too long to find someone.

Joe, who should be enjoying his retirement in Montana, or drinking coffee in Nairobi with his beloved Zahra, not a pile of ashes in an urn.

Tightening his grip, Stevestared at the familiar face, at the eyes glistening with the twinkle of laughter. At that moment in time, anything was possible for the young man in the picture.

Joe had lied to him, steered him away from the truth for years, and yet he wanted him back more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

As he sat there trying to fight the hollow ache in his gut that had suddenly replaced the contentment he had been feeling, a particularly strong gust of wind slammed the lanai door closed next to him with a loud bang.

And Steve lost himself inside his head.

* * *

Danny was humming.

No, scratch that. Danny Williams was _singing_.

Window rolled down, sun caressing his skin, he rhythmically tapped the steering wheel as he sang along to his favorite Bon Jovi tune.

Despite not being his weekend with the kids, he had woken up feeling happy and surprisingly well-rested, two things that —especially combined— were a rare occurrence in his life. As he showered and made breakfast, he briefly wondered if karma was going to bite him in the ass later and immediately shoved the thought to the back of his mind, deciding to enjoy the moment for once without worrying about what ifs and possible dreary scenarios.

At 11am, he was all dressed and ready to go. Two six-packs of beer were already sitting on his coffee table so he could get them on his way out. He figured Steve had been up since dawn for the ridiculous training he insisted on keeping up so he could go a little earlier than planned. The bet was really an excuse to spend time with him after all, something they hadn't done nearly enough lately.

Between the time off he had taken from work and the restaurant fiasco, they'd ended up spending a lot more time than usual away from each other. Even when working a case, partnering together wasn't always the first option, being it a conscious choice to train the rookies or a spur-of-the-moment decision when the circumstances required it.

Danny didn't like it one bit, and missed his best friend terribly.

So here he was on his way to Steve's house, mouth already salivating at the thought of the steak that awaited him and looking forward to a quiet afternoon sitting by the ocean he had come to love and the man who had claimed a spot in his heart right next to Grace and Charlie.

It took two more songs from his Jersey playlist to get there. As the final notes from "Dead or Alive" echoed inside the car, Danny parked the Camaro in the driveway, grabbed the beer and headed for the front door.

It was unlocked, which made sense since Steve was waiting for him.

The silence that assaulted him once he stepped in did not.

The Jersey native frowned. There was an eerie stillness in the air that reminded him of the oppressive feeling he had experienced in the hours before the strike on the Arcturus and put him immediately on alert.

Steve's house had been a crime scene more times than he liked to remember, broken into by ruthless criminals who only had murder on their mind, and each time the man had ended up with some kind of injury related to the break-in: concussions, bruises, knife slashes. The last incident was still fresh in Danny's mind, even if he hadn't been around to witness it. Guilt tripping his teammates after finding out they'd delayed calling him, he had seen the pictures of the devastation in the kitchen, the pool of blood on the pavement and the red streaks across almost every surface.

Another close call his partner had miraculously survived.

"Steve?" he called out as he put the beer on the coffee table and took a few steps forward.

His hand instinctively reached for the weapon at his side, the weapon he knew wasn't there because it was a Saturday morning and he hadn't even thought of packing it to go hang out with his best friend.

His danger-prone, bullet magnet of a friend.

A quick inspection of the study revealed nothing out of place. There were papers and a few black-and-white pictures on the desk but nothing to indicate an attack or a struggle. The door to the lanai was closed, and there was no sign of Steve in the backyard or the water.

He couldn't hear any movement from upstairs and the Silverado was parked out front, so Danny tried once again to push the negative thoughts to the back of his mind and reasoned with himself that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why the BBQ wasn't already set and that his worry was unjustified.

He failed.

Ten years on the task force partnered with McGarrett had sharpened his senses and taught him to always look beneath the surface because reality was usually a lot more complicated than it seemed.

"Steve?" he tried again a little louder, and was about to head upstairs to check his bedroom when a rustling sound coming from the kitchen drew his attention. Danny looked around for a second, trying to locate something that could be used as a weapon in case he needed it. When he heard a thump a second later as if someone had collided against a hard surface, he decided to forego personal protection and sprinted towards the room, expecting to see bad guys in black overalls and balaclavas brandishing automatic weapons.

His assumption couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Very much alone, Steve was crouched against one of the cabinets, gun in hand, panting tense in a battle-mode stance, he kept scanning the space for potential threats with unfocused, distressed eyes that got even wider as soon as they landed on him.

"Get down, Danny, get down!" he urged, voice laced with uncharacteristic fear.

The sight stunned Danny to immobility.

Wherever Steve was, it wasn't in the present and it wasn't reality he was seeing. His breaths were coming in short, shallow puffs, and his face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

A string of panicked thoughts raced through Danny's mind as his own gaze roamed around, taking in the shattered china littering the floor, the holes marring the fridge right under where Bauer's bullets had hit, and the open drawer under the oven where his friend usually stashed one of his secret, ready-to-use weapons.

The door to the backyard was also open, but the blond detective knew there had been no intruders in the house.

He closed his eyes briefly, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Steve, look at me."

Steve did, and once again Danny saw the blank, wild look of a man racked by demons who believed he was struggling for his life."I hit him, but he's still alive," he said, gun still pointed at an invisible threat. "You have to go, it's not safe here!"

Grateful for the recognition on his partner's face, Danny was simultaneously taken aback by the intensity of the episode Steve was being plagued with. And if he had to guess what it was about, he would bet his bottom dollar that he was reliving the assault that had led to the trip to Montana and Joe's death.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Steve finally snapping after all the shit life had put him through. He always looked invincible during the day but at night, when the light faded and the door closed, he was just as vulnerable as the next guy. Even more so, if possible.

"It's alright, Steve, we're safe."

Danny kept his tone calm and held his hands out as he inched towards his friend's hunkering frame, wondering if there was something he could've done to prevent it. He knew Joe's death was still weighing heavily on Steve's shoulders, that he had not only lost a mentor but a father figure, a steady presence that had looked after him when his own father hadn't. Their little revenge trip to Laos to secure Hassan to justice had done nothing to ease his pain, nor had Greer's untimely death.

Left to fester, that grief had led to the only inevitable outcome.

"No, we're not. They already got Joe, I... I don't want anything to happen to you..."

The words, spoken in an urgent, broken voice, chilled him to the core. Danny took a step back, bumped against the fridge and leaned on it for support, unsure of what to do. He desperately wanted to help but wasn't sure how to approach someone who had completely lost his grip on reality.

What if he couldn't bring him back?

No, not someone. This was Steve. His best friend.

The man he had shared his life with for the last nine years.

Danny would do anything for him.

Whatever it took.

"Hey hey hey, it's okay, no one's here."

Hands raised, he gestured towards the empty kitchen as if to say _'see, were alone'_, hoping to break him out of his daze.

Steve shook his head vigorously, his frown deepening as his eyes lost focus and started wandering around the room again. "He was sent to kill us, Danny, I can't let him! I have to keep you safe," he all but shouted, pain and uncertainty shining brightly in his confused stare.

"Steve, look at me. Okay? Look at me," he pleaded, slowly moving into his friend's field of vision.

Steve turned his head. Haunted, bewildered eyes found Danny's warm, compassionate ones.

"I need… I need to protect you. You're the only one left, Danny. I… I don't have anybody else."

He sounded so helpless, so broken that Danny found himself overwhelmed by the onslaught of his own emotions. "Steve, have I ever lied to you? Huh?" he said, taking another step in his direction. He watched the other man's expression change from suspicion to doubt until a flicker of awareness set in.

"No."

"No. And I'm not gonna start now." Danny closed the distance between them and crouched down in front of him. Tilting his head to the side, he tried to get his partner's attention without touching him, afraid to trigger some sort of reaction that he wouldn't know how to handle. "Trust me, buddy, we're safe."

The words filtered through the ringing in Steve's ears, through the fog in his head and the tightening in his chest. He knew they were important, that he should pay attention, but somehow couldn't yet grasp the truth behind their meaning.

Images and sounds had filled his mind, replaying themselves over and over in a never-ending loop.

Blood. Blood in his kitchen, blood on his hands, blood on Joe's shirt.

Gunfire. Explosion. Cole's body hitting the ground.

Bullet holes. Joe's liver hit beyond repair. His own liver shredded to pieces.

Pain searing through his skin.

Steve blinked furiously, willing the images away. His heart was racing too fast and too loud, a sense of imminent danger coursing through him in a dizzying rush.

Danny. He had to protect Danny.

But Danny had told him they were safe. And Danny never lied.

_Danny never lied..._

The realization was startling and comforting at the same time. As the haze slowly lifted, he allowed the words to sink in, understood their message and clung onto it to make his way back to awareness. He stared at the gun in his hand as if he was seeing it for the first time, a stricken expression on his face. Then he slumped back, legs stretched out, dropping his arms down to his sides.

Shifting his weight so that the uncomfortable position wouldn't bother his bad knee, Danny witnessed the whirlwind of emotions displayed on Steve's features, the battle between trust and fear raging in his mind. Gradually, the lines of pain and worry started to smoothen, his breathing slowed down and his eyes regained focus.

Satisfied that it was safe to touch him, he placed a hesitant hand on his friend's shoulder.

At the light pressure, Steve turned his head. Confused, weary eyes found Danny and settled on him like his life and sanity depended on it. "Danny…" he whispered in a hoarse voice as his conscious mind resurfaced and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Danny smiled softly, moving his hand to the back of Steve's neck to squeeze it lightly in a soft, reassuring gesture. "Hey, you with me now?"

At his friend's nod of assurance, he reached his other hand and wrapped it around the gun still clasped between his fingers, feeling him tremble from aftershock and fatigue. "Why don't I take that, huh? Get it out of the way."

Steve nodded again.

Numbness was creeping into his body and mind after the exertion, along with a familiar twinge of guilt and shame. Unable to speak but feeling safe in the certainty that no words were needed, he pulled his knees up to his chest, leaned his forearms on them and hung his head, trusting Danny to take charge and do what was best for him.

Danny, who never judged him and loved him unconditionally despite all his flaws.

"I got you," Danny whispered as if he'd read his mind. "I got you..."

He sat down next to him, put a hand on Steve's upper arm and kept it there to ground him and offer support.

He would stay there as long as it was needed.

Minds and hearts soothed by each other's presence and the calming sound of the ocean coming through the open door, they sat in silence until morning turned well into afternoon.

At some point, Steve returned the gesture and covered Danny's hand with his own.

And yet they didn't move.

When the former SEAL eventually signaled he was ready, Danny helped him to his feet and guided him out of the kitchen and onto the couch, lowering him down onto the cushions.

"Sit," he said softly.

Steve dropped down onto the sofa and hunched over, resting his elbows on his thighs. Danny settled next to him, his hand automatically reaching for the spot between his friend's shoulder blades and rubbing gentle circles over it so as not to break the reassuring contact they both still needed.

"Do you remember what happened?"

The question hung in the air for several moments as Steve strained to recall what had triggered the flashbacks. "Pictures. I found pictures of my dad from Vietnam. Pictures of Joe..." He covered his face with his hands as his voice trailed off. "Can't remember anything after that."

Danny lowered his gaze, imagining it all in his head. Steve in the studio, sorting through papers. A sudden noise, maybe a bang that sounded like a gunshot, releasing memories, emotions, sights and sounds both real and imagined.

"These episodes... have you had them before?"

"A few times, back when I was in the teams. Then after... you know, after Wo Fat."

_Of course. _

Back when Steve had pretended to be fine after being tortured and poisoned with drugs.

Swallowing hard, Danny chastised himself for missing the signs and his friend's struggle, and vowed it would not happen again.

"It's like... like a movie, you know? All the worst crap you've ever seen in your life running out before your eyes in fast motion." Staring off into the distance, voice strained, Steve tried to put into words the jumble of emotions that had taken hold of him. "You try but you can't shake them. These images... these things, they make your chest go tight and cut off your air and it's like... you're powerless to stop them."

"I'm so sorry, man..."

"I thought I was past it..." he continued, wiping a hand over his face. "I mean, it still hurts but I really thought I was getting better."

Danny shifted and moved closer, his thigh brushing agains Steve's. Openly talking about his feelings, especially when vulnerable, was something his friend rarely did. Something the old McGarrett would've willingly traded with torture. But the man before him needed to unload, to give voice to the loss and the guilt he had been carrying inside for way too long.

"What is it that you saw?"

Steve took a few shuddering breaths. "Blood. Flashes of the attack in Montana. Dae Won's plane..."

"Do you think..." Danny tried hesitantly, knowing how Steve felt about it but needing to put it out there so that he would at least consider it. "Maybe you could talk to someone about this?"

The Five-0 leader lifted his hands to his face, kept them there for a second then reached up and dragged his fingers through his hair. "Yeah... yeah, maybe I could." It wasn't a yes, but the admission that he was dealing with something he had barely any control over was a progress in itself. "I just miss them, Danny..."

"I know you do, buddy," Danny nodded. "I know it's hard. I still miss my brother every day."

The honesty in his friend's voice and the care in his eyes tugged at Steve's heart. He'd never had someone he could count on like this, a person who had seen him at his worst and still chose to be around him.

Someone who loved him more than his own parents ever did.

He slid down a little lower on the couch so he could rest his head against the back and closed his eyes. Danny's hand rose for a moment, a gesture born out of a parent's need to touch and soothe but then stilled, curling his fingers into a fist and dropping back down.

"Do you wanna get something to eat?" he asked instead. "We can order from that Chinese place on Waialae."

Steve shook his head, the mere thought of food making him nauseous. "Not right now."

"Right... right, sorry," Danny apologized.

"Sorry I ruined your day..."

"Nonsense. We were going to spend the day together, that's what we're doing."

Steve turned his head, averting his gaze, pretty sure his friend's idea for the day didn't involve babysitting his PTSD-ailing partner. He hadn't planned to screw it up either, but somehow fate always managed to stab him in the back as soon as he let his guard down and dared to hope that things might finally turn for the best.

"I guess you won the bet. I never found that certificate..."

Danny waved him off again. He couldn't care less about the bet.

"You scared the shit out of me, man, I... I didn't know how to help..."

Steve wanted to tell him that his support and just being there meant the world to him, that he would never be able to repay him for the love he still believed he didn't deserve, but as he moved to sit up he noticed something on the floor between the rug and the armchair. Standing on unsteady legs under Danny's watchful eye, he walked the few feet to the recliner and reached down to retrieve it.

It was Joe's picture.

He stared at it for a long moment, then wordlessly handed it to Danny before slumping back onto the couch.

The Jersey native stared at it, involuntarily tensing. He didn't need to be a detective to know it was the picture that had caused Steve's flashbacks. Unsure of what to say, he went for a neutral question he hoped wouldn't cause any more harm.

"How long did they serve together?"

"Not sure," Steve shrugged. "Joe didn't like to talk about his past and my dad… we didn't spend much time together as adults…"

The pain lacing his friend's voice was hard to miss and Danny wished he could do something, anything to take it away.

"Why don't you, uh… put it in your wallet along with your dad's?"

It wasn't a secret, at least to him, that Steve kept with him pictures of the people he cared about. But while it was no surprise to find John's, along with Mary and Joanie, it had been unexpected to see a shot of Grace and Charlie as well, a candid photo taken years before during a birthday party. Steve had given him an apologetic look that day, as if ashamed of being caught red-handed with something he wasn't supposed to have, while all Danny wanted to do was hug him for loving his kids just as fiercely as he did.

There might never be enough cash in the man's wallet, but it sure held something a lot more precious.

Thankfully, the thought seemed to please him. Steve nodded and offered him a grateful smile. "That's a good idea. Thanks, Danny." He reached for his back pocket, realized it was empty, and carefully placed the picture on the coffee table to bring it upstairs later. There was a faraway look in his eyes that Danny couldn't read, but it wasn't the empty stare that had scared him earlier so he just sighed and waited, giving him the time he needed.

"I think he'd like it there," Steve said after a while. "He said it was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen."

It took a moment for Danny to catch up and figure what he meant. When he did, he replied with no hesitation. "Then you should get him there. I'll come with you if you'd like."

"Appreciate that, buddy."

Feeling somewhat relieved, Steve leaned back and closed his eyes again.

"You still nauseous?" Danny asked, thinking he was in pain and immediately moving to stand up. "I can make you tea or something."

Steve reached out a hand, curling it around his wrist. "Don't. Can we just... sit here?"

"Yeah," Danny sat down once more, propping his feet on the coffee table and relaxing in a similar pose. "Yeah, of course we can, buddy. You just let me know when you're ready."

THE END


	7. Catch Me When I Fall

**Catch Me When I Fall**

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and commented so far, and to the guests who I can't reply to but always appreciate.

I have received multiple requests about a very popular theme: bank robbery. And since I like to please my readers and appreciate their support, I decided to go for it. The plot for this one was inspired by one of my favorite episodes of The X-Files, 'Monday'. Some of you might be familiar with it. I of course left out the supernatural parts of the original story and only used what could be adapted to the Five-0 world. I also used some of the original dialogues as an homage. Hope you enjoy it.

I do not own Hawaii Five-0, The X-Files or any of the characters, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Screeching to a halt outside Hawaii National Bank, the first thing Lou Grover noticed was the SWAT team getting into position behind the crime scene tape. Two police cars pulled up alongside him, adding to the number of HPD vehicles surrounding the building. Exhaling loudly, he climbed out of his Suburban, ducked under the yellow tape and approached the Lieutenant in charge.

"Captain," the officer nodded at him curtly, his face grim. "Is Five-0 taking over?"

"What can you tell me?" Lou asked, ignoring the question.

"Silent alarm tripped 30 minutes ago. We think one robber, armed. Probably handgun. Definitely no pro or he would have been long gone. Single gunshot about 20 minutes ago. Blinds are down but it looks like there's a body on the floor. Where's the rest of your team?"

Grover glanced at the building, his stomach knotting in dread. "I think two of them might be inside."

* * *

Kneeling on the floor, Steve's head in his lap, Danny couldn't help thinking back to his New Jersey days, when he had barely escaped a similar situation on his first week on the job. With his partner half conscious and bleeding heavily from a head wound and a trigger-happy, unstable robber staring down at him, he knew whatever chance they had at getting out of there alive depended on him and his superhero powers, as Steve called them, to wear people down.

Talk the guy out until he surrendered.

He had done it before, as a rookie on that fateful day and countless times after that. He could— _had_ to do it again.

Because it wasn't only his and Steve's lives on the line. Twelve other people, eight unlucky customers and four tellers, were currently on the ground around them, scared out of their minds. And if he didn't want their deaths on his conscience he had to find a way to get through to him before it was too late.

"...n'd to take'im down, D'ny..." Steve's hand gripped his shirt, pulling him closer to his level as he moved to curl on his side, his slurred words the unmistakable sign of yet another concussion.

"It's alright, Steve, I got this," he whispered, tracing his fingers along his friend's face in a soothing gesture.

Take him down.

As if it was that simple.

He raised his gaze to face the robber, who was breathing heavily and waving his gun unsteadily in their direction. "Look, you're in charge here, everybody knows it. It doesn't have to end like this..."

The man wasn't facing the entrance, so he didn't notice the SWAT team standing outside, ready to barge in. He leveled his weapon at Danny, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Yeah, it does."

A moment later, a shot pierced the air.

* * *

_One hour earlier_

"I know, I'm late, I don't need to hear it," Steve said as soon as Danny walked into his office. He was sitting at his desk opening an envelope, brows scrunched up in concentration, movements sharp and brisk.

"Hear what?"

"The lecture about how it's appropriate to stick to schedule when dealing with a government official."

Danny watched him take his paycheck out and turn it around to endorse it, unable to hide the smile on his face. His partner was a lot of things but tardy wasn't one of them. Punctuality had been drilled into him by the Navy, and he took great pride in respecting that. "I wasn't gonna say that."

"You weren't?"

"No."

Steve nodded, signing his full name on the piece of paper. "So am I?"

"What?"

"Late to the meeting?"

"No, no you didn't miss the meeting," Danny replied, putting his hands in his pockets and shuffling on his feet. "You're just uncharacteristically late for it. Everything okay?"

Steve glanced at his watch. "If I didn't miss it why are you here?"

"We, uh... took a short break and I came looking for you. The Governor is not pleased that her golden boy's late."

"It's just... it's just one of those days, Danny," the Five-0 leader admitted, leaning back in his chair with a resigned expression on his face. "Roof's been leaking at the house so I'm having it fixed, but the check I wrote to cover the repair work bounced and I have no idea why. Took me half an hour to convince the guy I wasn't trying to scam him and that he'll get his money by the end of the day, so now I need to deposit my pay or I'll be sleeping in a house with no roof tonight."

Danny shook his head, barely stifling a laugh. "Didn't you set your account up for direct deposit?"

"Yes, of course I have, but for some reason it isn't working and I really need that roof fixed." He stood up, looked at his watch again. "Bank's just down the street. I'll be back in ten. Cover for me, will you?" he said before fleeing the room, not giving Danny time to reply.

The blond detective rolled his eyes. "When do I _not_?"

A few minutes later, Steve was standing in front of the ATM, glaring at the words 'out of order' mocking him from the video terminal. He looked at the bank's entrance with a scowl on his face, wondering if he'd have enough time to get in and solve whatever issue was holding up his money before the Governor decided to fire him.

He had slept in the weirdest places in the direst condition during his deployments, but right now the 'no roof / no job' scale tipped firmly towards the former.

Sighing, he said a silent prayer that the place wouldn't be crowded and headed inside.

There were twelve customers before him, he noticed, standing in three different lines. Steve chose the shortest one, only to realize with dismay that it was also the slowest. As the minutes ticked by, he watched four people do their business and leave while his line didn't move an inch.

_I'm screwed_, he thought to himself. _I am totally and completely screwed_.

Had he not been distracted by the wail of a child in a bright red stroller, frustrated by how slowly the line was moving, and eager to get away, he would have easily noticed the man standing by himself in a corner, nervously looking around, wearing a zipped-up, tattered army green jacket that was unusual for the day's warm temperature.

Had he recognized he was up to no good, he would have warned the tellers or moved closer to try and tackle him to the ground.

All these thoughts ran through Steve's head the moment he saw the man draw a weapon from under his jacket and make his intentions clear.

"Everybody on the floor, face down! You know what this is!"

A chorus of hysterical 'oh, god!' and 'please don't shoot us!' echoed around the room as everybody froze in their tracks and instinctively raised their hands.

"Shut up! On the ground, right now!"

Mid-thirty, about six feet tall, he had unruly blond hair loosely tied into a ponytail and a stubbled face. His skin was pasty, his eyes crazed, and the hand holding the gun betrayed a slight tremble that made the hair on the back of Steve's neck stand on edge. The man was obviously high on something, and in a room full of civilians things could go downhill fast. Real fast.

He knelt down, motioning the others to do the same. "You're the boss," he said in a flat, non-threatening voice as he lay on his stomach next to a young woman who was sobbing quietly. "It's alright," he tried to reassure her. "It's gonna be okay."

"You heard him, I'm in charge so let's start setting some rules!"

Moving with surprising agility, he reached for a grocery bag one of the customers had left unattended and spilled its content onto the floor. "Cell phones, toss them inside," he ordered, passing the bag to one of the hostages who promptly got on his feet and started to collect them. "Any of you tries something, you're dead, you hear me?"

Everyone nodded, complying with the instructions and filling the bag with their devices as the man watched, gun still trained on the cowering group.

Steve held onto his a second longer, trying to figure out a way to call for help until the young man holding the bag stopped in front of him with a pleading look in his eyes and he caved in.

No point in upsetting a deranged robber.

Plus, he still had his gun, safely hidden by his shirt and his prone position.

He would find another way.

Task completed, the man took the bag and tossed it to the far corner of the room, away from everyone, and approached the tellers that were huddled in a separate group near one of the large, glass-covered windows. He pointed the gun at one of them, a middle-aged Hawaiian woman with a white plumeria flower in her head, and motioned her to go behind the counter.

"You, put the money in a bag, right now."

The woman nodded and did as instructed.

"Quickly! And don't try anything stupid!" He wiped a hand over his sweaty face, eyes darting nervously around the room. "Nobody moves, you understand? Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt!"

The frightened teller began to remove the money from the register. "Let's go, lady. Let's go. Let's go. Let's go! The quicker you go, the quicker I go!" Unbeknownst to the robber, she also had the presence of mind to push the silent alarm with her foot. She had been a faithful employee for over twenty-five years, and was determined not to let the skinny haole in front of her ruin her last week on the job.

Steve met her gaze as she handed the bag full of money back to the man who was, if possible, even more nervous and started filling another one. He, along with the rest of Five-0, was a regular at the bank because of its proximity to the Palace and all employees knew who they were so when she nodded at him slightly, he understood that she had called for help.

He just needed to distract the robber until they came.

* * *

"... and we've witnessed a twenty-percent drop in the homicide rate and a thirty-five percent drop in the overall crime trend..."

Danny was in hell.

Despite his major in Economics, sitting in the Governor's office listening to a nameless suit from the Mayor's team give a boring report, complete with PowerPoint presentations and multi-colored graphics, was his personal idea of Hades. The guy's flat delivery and meaningless pauses would've put any sane individual to sleep, and after thirty-two minutes he was genuinely surprised no one had stopped him or called another break.

"The crime report." Governor Mahoe's voice filtered through the fog in his mind, bringing him to attention. "That brings us to Commander McGarrett. Is he going to grace us with his presence?"

Danny's gaze moved from the conspicuously empty chair next to him to the woman's stern, disappointed face. "I, uh... I don't know, ma'am, but I'm gonna find out."

Giving her the sincerest, most apologetic look he could muster, he excused himself and left the office.

* * *

"Hey! Hey, leave her alone!"

If there was something Steve McGarrett couldn't tolerate, it was the thought of innocent people hurt or endangered for no reason. Or for entirely the wrong reason.

From his position on the ground, he watched the robber roughly grab the teller's arm and push her forward, his other hand still grasping the gun pointed at the woman who apparently wasn't moving as fast as he wanted. The pale, sweat-dotted face turned, pinning him with a sharp glare.

Steve didn't budge. "She did what you asked, man. Let her go. We're all doing what you asked…" He wasn't the patient one, the one comfortable with doing all the talking. Danny usually mastered that task while he focused on the action. But Danny wasn't here, and Steve was very grateful for that so he figured he could try and reason with the guy as he waited for his chance to take him down.

"I'm not done..." the man muttered, as if to himself, scratching his temple with the barrel of his pistol. "We're not done yet… Keys, get your keys!" he barked at the woman. "We're gonna open up the ATM!"

Grabbing her by the collar of her shirt as soon as she did, he directed her towards the machine.

Steve's gaze followed them as they moved, until it faltered and then completely stopped as soon as he saw his partner approaching from the other side of the street.

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_!

He was up on his feet before his conscious brain could register the movement, drawing the gunman's attention. "Hey, lock the doors! You forgot to lock the front doors!" But it was too late. Danny sauntered into the bank, oblivious to the threat, paused for a second as he took in the scene in front of him and immediately reached for his weapon.

Steve did the same, aiming his own gun at the man's back. "Five-0! Drop your weapon!"

His voice rose over the collective gasp coming from the hostages and the teller's panicked yelp as the robber tightened his grip on the woman and yanked her close, using her as a shield.

"You drop it!" he countered, training his Beretta on Danny.

"I'd do as he says, man," the blond detective responded, unfazed by the threat. "There's two of us and one of you."

He could see Steve inching closer and figured it was only a matter of time before he had the man subdued and cuffed.

Boy, was he wrong...

Gaze shifting nervously back and forth between the two task force members, the man stubbornly refused to comply. "I ain't dropping nothing. You put yours down or I'll shoot her!"

"And what do you think I'll do then?" Danny snapped. He loved his job, but days like this put a damper on the positivity he was trying to live by and made him reconsider the idea of giving up the restaurant. And all because of stupid sons of bitches like this one who had decided it would be a good idea today to rob a bank and risk innocent people's lives.

As the three men stood in a standoff, pointing guns at each other, the kid in the red stroller let out another piercing wail that made everyone jump. Startled, and not really familiar with how to properly handle a firearm, the robber turned towards the sound and instinctively fired a shot.

He wasn't aiming at anyone in particular, and sure hadn't planned on things to fail so spectacularly. He just needed some quick money. Should have been in and out in ten minutes before fricking Five-0 ruined his day. Now, he thought to himself as he looked at the body in front of him and heard the hostages' panicked screams, he'd be lucky if they handed him a one-way ticket to Halawa.

Taking advantage of the commotion, the Hawaiian woman he was holding twisted away from his grasp and ran to hide behind the counter.

He didn't stop her.

If he was going down, he'd do that with a bang.

Taking a deep breath, he faced the blond cop and raised his weapon in warning.

"I said _you_ drop it."

Danny stared at him in shock, then slowly lowered his gun.

* * *

"He's... he's not dead... You're not a murderer yet."

The Jersey native didn't recognize the terror-stricken voice coming out of his mouth, nor did he realize that the wetness trailing down his cheeks was his own tears. The only thing he was aware of was the blood, the frightening amount of it covering his best friend's head, face and chest, and the feeling of everything going in slow motion.

Steve hadn't stirred since he had fallen to the ground. How long ago, Danny couldn't say. He had watched in riveted horror as the bullet from the man's gun had hit him on the side of the head, flinging him backwards, stared powerlessly at the way the back of his skull had bounced off the floor thinking this was it, that SuperSEAL's luck had finally run out and this worthless piece of trash had actually killed him.

And the worst thing was, it hadn't even been premeditated.

The robber had sensed danger and reacted without even thinking, squeezing the trigger just as Steve was making his move to disarm him and firing a lucky shot that could now have potentially devastating consequences.

"Please. He needs medical attention..." As much as he hated to plead and show him weakness, Danny knew it was vital to the cause. Just until he could check on Steve and get them out of this mess. Then he would end him. "We're not going anywhere. Just... let me help him."

The rise and fall of his partner's chest did nothing to quell his fears. He had seen his fair share of head wounds and knew they bled a lot. He also knew that a few millimeters could make a difference between a graze, a fractured skull and irreparable brain damage, and the fact that Steve wasn't moving sent all kind of alarms off in his brain.

"What's your name?" he blurted. He had tried anger, threatened to shoot him, appealed to whatever shred of decency was left in his drug-addled brain. All to no avail. The pool of blood under Steve's head was growing larger and larger and Danny gritted his teeth, chasing away the thought that his best friend may be bleeding to death while he was just standing there doing nothing to help. "Look, I gotta call you something, alright? How about John? It's a nice... honest name. John?"

Everything was quiet around him, customers and employees all staying silent despite their own fears out of respect for the fallen man.

The robber stared at him for a long moment, a bewildered expression on his face like it was the most ridiculous question he'd ever been asked. Then he lowered his gun. "Bernard."

"Bernard," Danny repeated in a broken voice. If it was any other day, he would've laughed at the odds of a Hawaiian with such a peculiar name. Today, he didn't care. He just needed Bernard to understand. "Let me check on my partner, please. I give you my word I won't try anything."

"Your cell phone. Toss it," the young man instructed.

He wordlessly complied. Spreading his arms out in surrender, he crouched down to place it on the ground before kicking it away.

Then Bernard finally nodded his head.

Releasing the breath he didn't know he had been holding, Danny rushed to his friend's side.

* * *

There was a cold, hard surface underneath him.

Voices filtering into his consciousness, disjointed words penetrating the fog of pain blanketed around him.

A warm presence at his side. Hands touching him, fingers reaching for his arm, his face, his throat.

Steve instinctively rolled his head to the side and stopped, wincing when the throb in his skull flared and threatened to flicker out what little awareness he had managed to accomplish.

"Hey… Steve, hey, stop. Don't move…"

_Danny_…

Grasping onto the familiarity of the voice, he tried to force his way back to full consciousness. His senses awoke one after the other, and the first thing he became aware of was the feeling of something warm trailing down his face. He frowned and carefully tried to open his eyes. As soon as he got them to a half-mast the thick liquid seeped in, and all he could make out was a dizzying blur of white.

"Can't… see," he rasped, one hand reaching clumsily toward his friend in an involuntary moment of panic.

Danny grasped it gently, leaning closer. "It's alright, you're alright, just... just give me a sec." He looked up, eyes darting wildly from side to side, searching for something that could help. A moment later, a woman's hand appeared in his field of vision, holding a scarf. "Here, use this," she urged.

Nodding gratefully, he accepted the garment and used it to wipe the blood off his friend's face, then cradled Steve's head in his lap. "Better?"

Steve peeled his eyes open again and blinked sluggishly, willing them to focus. The light assaulting his retinas sent a stab of white-hot pain through his skull, but at least now he could see. "Y-yeah…" He barely managed to force the word out over a sudden wave of nausea and turned feebly into his friend's touch as his heart continued to beat in sync with the merciless throb in his head.

"What h'pnd?"

He should know, he chastised himself, he should remember, but everything was fuzzy and he just couldn't think straight. There was a sense of urgency around him though. He could see it on Danny's face, feel it in the way his partner's hand was gripping his arm, and that spurred his confusion into awareness.

He gazed blearily up, taking in his surroundings.

Bank.

He went to the bank.

There was a robbery.

A gunshot.

The burning feeling of hot metal flying across his head.

He sat up with a gasp, face twisting into a pasty-white mask of renewed agony at the movement that he tried to push down, deep down where it wouldn't hurt because if they were still at the bank they were in danger, Danny was in danger, and he couldn't let that happen…

"Hey, what did I say? You need to stay still, alright?" Startled by the sudden move, Danny firmly planted a hand against Steve's chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his best friend's heart as he pushed him gently back down.

His other hand was still grasping the now bloodied scarf, applying pressure to the wound to his head. The bullet had grazed the scalp, pulling chunks of skin and hair off as it passed. Judging by its location, if Steve had been standing to his full height when Bernard had fired, he would have hit him in the brain.

The whirlwind of emotions of the last few minutes had left Danny completely drained. Anguish, for not being able to tell where or how bad Steve had been hit, panic as he had dropped to his knees to check for his pulse, relief upon finding the reassuring heartbeat under his fingers.

"It's not safe," he added, referring to both Steve's physical conditions and the situation they were in. The former SEAL seemed to have trouble tracking what was happening around him and he didn't want to endanger any of them with a startled reaction or an untimely statement.

As if on cue, a shadow loomed above them and they both looked up to see Bernard staring at them, a menacing expression on his face.

"I have to get my partner out of here," Danny said hoarsely. "He needs a hospital. You can do the right thing here, man, let him go."

"Sir, please. Listen to him," the teller intercepted. "Don't hurt anybody else. A whole lot of police are coming."

Bernard stared at her, eyes widening in recognition and distress. "You tripped the alarm..."

* * *

"They're supposed to call, right?" Bernard asked as he paced back and forth, sending worried glances every few steps at the SWAT and PD personnel gathered outside.

Danny shook his head, not even bothering to look up at him and focusing instead on keeping his partner still and his wound sealed. "I, uh… I don't if they're going to call."

After the revelation that the teller had ignored his command and alerted the police, Bernard had nearly lost it. Three angry holes in the wall behind them remained as proof of the outburst. A forth had ricocheted and hit one of the prone customers in the leg. A minor wound, thankfully, that the mother of the wailing child had promptly dressed with an extra pair of sweatpants she'd packed for her son.

The man heaved in a few harsh, ragged breaths. "I swear I'll kill everyone in this freaking place if they come in here!"

This time, Danny raised his gaze. "They don't know that, you understand? Hey, hey, look at me! They can't see you. They don't know what your plan is!"

"They better know... They damn well better figure it out!"

"Look... just take the money and go, alright?"

"Nice try, cop," Bernard sneered. "The minute I get near that door they're gonna blow my brains out!"

Danny looked down at Steve, who appeared to be barely conscious, and released a weary sigh. "I just want everybody to live, man, that's all," he said softly as his hand reached out to stroke his friend's cheek. "Just... just go. I'm not gonna stop you."

"I didn't want this!" Bernard replied in a high-pitched tone as if seeing for the first time the consequences of his actions. "I didn't want any of this…"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have tried to rob a bank and kill a cop…" the blond detective growled darkly, calling on his last reserve of patience.

Steve heard the anger coursing through his partner's voice as awareness set in again, heard the depth of pain beneath the statement, and his first instinct was to launch himself at the guy and choke the life out of him for what he was putting Danny and all those innocent people through. His second, smarter response was to just stay where he was, allow the fog to clear from his brain and wait for the right moment to strike.

"...n'd to take'im down, D'ny..."he muttered, reaching up to grasp his friend's shirt to get his attention. Through the blood rushing in his ears and the nausea building in his stomach, an idea had formed in his head and he shifted to curl on his right side, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"It's alright, Steve, I got this," Danny reassured him, and the affection he saw in his partner's blue eyes and felt in the gentle touch on his face made his heart flutter with feelings that after so many years he still felt oh-so-lucky to experience.

Then Danny squared his shoulders and faced the robber, who had grown more and more nervous by the second and Steve tensed, getting ready for action.

"Look, you're in charge here, everybody knows it. It doesn't have to end like this..."

Through the glass door, the Jersey native could see the SWAT team approach the entrance and instinctively tightened the grip on his friend's huddled form. He felt him tense at the same time he saw Bernard raise his arm to point the weapon at them, whispering a cold, detached "Yeah, it does..."

A heartbeat later Steve shoved him aside, pulled his backup gun from his ankle holster, aimed and fired a single shot. Startled, Danny stared as Bernard's body hit the ground, the weapon he had been holding clattering down next to him.

"Shit," he whispered breathlessly.

The front doors swung open and the SWAT officers swarmed in, fanning out with synchronized precision to secure the building.

Danny barely gave them a second glance. Beside him, he saw Steve drop the gun, go still for a moment, then sag from his sitting position back to the ground, his pale face contorting in a grimace of pain.

"Steve!" he called as he crawled on his knees back to his side. "I'm right here, buddy, what's wrong?"

He got his answer a second later when Steve rolled halfway, braced one hand on the floor to support himself and started to heave. Nausea had clawed at his throat as soon as he'd sat up to shoot Bernard, who was now laying on his stomach a few feet from him, and despite his attempts to force the bile down the painful cramps contracting his stomach had pushed everything up and out.

Danny's own stomach lurched at the sight of his best friend struggling to breathe, white as a sheet and lathered in sweat. "Get the paramedics in here!" he yelled as he reached out and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the bloodied scarf, rubbing his back in soothing circles with his other hand as Steve leaned into him and continued to retch until there was nothing left.

"Danny! You guys alright?"

Lou Grover's baritone voice suddenly materialized behind him. "Lou... thank god," he sighed in relief at the familiar presence. "Steve's hurt, we need help!"

"I'm on it," the older man reassured him before heading back out.

As the hostages slowly left the bank, casting them rueful glances on the way out, Danny's arm tightened around his partner's shoulders. "Steve... hey, you're alright..."

Steve swayed slightly and sank into his friend's embrace. "My... h-head's killin' me..." he rasped out, his throat sore from all the retching. The room around him continued to swirl and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing convulsively.

"I know. Just hold on, help's coming."

"Ev'rybody okay?"

"Yes," a female voice said, and they both looked up to see the teller smile gratefully at them. "Everyone's okay. Thanks to you, Commander."

Danny smiled back, nodding at her before one of the SWAT officers escorted her outside.

"Look at you, huh? Saving the day again..."

Steve's brows crunched in confusion and he blinked dazedly at him. "Don't feel good, man…" he admitted, running a trembling hand over his mouth. "What is wrong with me?"

Danny frowned, but decided not to panic. Still holding on to him, he brushed the scarf over his friend's lips, wiping away what he had missed. "You got shot. Bullet grazed your head." Thoughts raced through his mind, memories of a similar injury in a different building, of nights spent on the bathroom floor as Steve fought against the poison ravaging his body. He had been there through it all —the concussions, the bullets, and each time it was more terrifying than the other, because he feared that it could be the last. "You're one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?"

Steve's only response was to close his eyes and go lax under his touch.

"Hey, no sleeping until the paramedics get here, you hear me?" Danny cried out, tapping him lightly on the cheek to rouse him from his slumber.

Despite feeling wrung out, disoriented and weak, the former SEAL allowed a faint smile to stretch his lips. "Okay, Danno..."

* * *

At the hospital, they sutured the gash with eight stitches, gave him fluids and antiemetics and admitted him for observation. The doctor asked him a bunch of routine questions to evaluate memory and concentration skills, and tested coordination and reflexes. He also ordered a CT scan to rule out bleeding or other serious brain injury. Danny insisted they did an MRI too, just to be safe, and both came back negative.

At the mere mention of the words 'overnight stay' a few hours later, Steve announced that there was no way he would spend the night there when there was nothing they could do for him and he had a perfectly good bed waiting for him at home.

That was before he remembered about his leaking rooftop, and that he had never deposited his check or solved his issue.

Not to mention the missed meeting with the Governor.

Danny once again came to the rescue, informing him that he had updated the Governor while he was asleep and that she'd passed along her congratulations for a job well done and her wishes for a speedy recovery. He had also sent Lou to his house to tell the guy doing the repair work that the head of Five-0 had just saved 12 people during a bank robbery and deserved his roof fixed ASAP if he didn't want the whole team unleashed on his ass.

Complying with the Commander's request, the doctor prescribed him medications, gave instructions they both knew by heart and recommended follow-up medical attention if the symptoms worsened before releasing him into Danny's care.

Steve spent the ride home slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed, right hand perched on the window and holding his throbbing head. It was weird to see him so compliant and quiet but then again, the man was used to licking his own wound in silence.

When Danny helped him into bed after a light meal and the first round of medications, frowning at the whimpering sounds his friend tried to restrain but couldn't, he promised him that the pain was only temporary, and that he would be okay soon.

It turned out to be a lie.

TBC?

So apparently my muse decided to leave the ending open and is considering a second part. What do you think? Should I explore what's going on with Steve and why it looks like he's not healing as he should?


	8. Catch Me When I Fall - Chapter 2

**Catch Me When I Fall**

**Part II**

* * *

A/N: I was completely overwhelmed by the response to this story, and the not-so-subtle hints to add a second part to it. ;) Thank you so much, everyone. Although I take it very seriously this is just a hobby, so knowing my efforts are appreciated motivates me to write more.

Therefore, you get an extra-long chapter.

The story took a complete different direction than what I had first planned, and I ended up with an 18-page document without even realizing it. Hope you guys like it.

A special thank you to my beta Susan, whose input was crucial to steer me in the right direction. If this chapter is good, I owe it to her.

* * *

"People don't just disappear, Danny! This is our only chance!"

"That's insane! It's not gonna work and you know it."

Steve bit his lip at his partner's comment, fighting the urge to tell him to shut it. A surge of anger rose within him and he pushed it back down, afraid he would say something he'd regret later. Instead, he turned around and simply walked away, leaving Danny and the rest of the team standing around the smart table while he headed toward his office.

He gripped the door handle a little too hard and paused for a moment to catch his breath before stepping inside. The silence that greeted him felt like music to his ears and he sunk in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and his throbbing head between his hands.

It had been a week since the bank robbery, and the debilitating headaches he'd been suffering because of Bernard's bullet were taking their toll on him. He barely slept, couldn't keep anything down and, if the dark shadows under his eyes were any indication, the symptoms were getting worse instead of better.

Having been knocked around more times than he liked to remember, he was pretty familiar with recovery times. One week —two tops, was the normal timeframe to heal from a concussion. Whatever was going on with him was obviously not the progress he had expected or experienced in the past. He may have been guilty of ignoring the warning signs, but he had genuinely thought the 48 hours of rest he'd gotten were enough, and that he would've been able to perform his professional and personal obligations after that.

What he hadn't factored in was the string of murders that had started plaguing the island, prompting the Governor to demand that they put an end to it, whatever it took. Still feeling guilty about missing their last meeting, Steve had all but sworn to her that that he would do whatever was in his power to bring the killer to justice. Or else. Which, in turn, had led to 18-hour days, missed medications and an overload of stress he really didn't need.

His personal needs, as usual, had been pushed to the sidelines for the greater good.

Five days into it, he was strung too tight and running on fumes, barely able to focus and not even half the leader they expected him to be.

They would understand. Of course they would. And yet he had chosen to keep his team in the dark. He hadn't even told Danny, though he was sure his friend had picked up on it. The man was incredibly perceptive and so attuned to his needs that anything barely escaped his notice.

As if on cue, there was a light knock on the glass door. Steve raised his head to find his partner standing in the doorway, a frown on his face.

"You should get some rest."

Any doubt that Danny hadn't noticed his distress vanished as soon as he heard his words.

There was no trace of anger in his tone, only concern. That was how it worked between him and Danny: they could raise their voices and call each other names, then take a bullet for the other five minutes later.

"I will when this case is over."

"I'm serious, man, you look like crap. There's nothing we can do right now. Let's call it a day."

Steve sighed, deflating in his chair. "How? How can we do that, Danny? Someone else could get killed tonight, could be in danger right now in this very moment and we're just sitting on our asses!"

Danny walked up to the desk and sat in one of the armchairs. "We're doing everything we can, babe. And we've been running ourselves ragged for almost a week now. Everyone's exhausted. What good are we to these people if we can't do our job right?"

It was true. Steve would never admit it out loud but his partner had a point. They were getting nowhere, and the frustration for the lack of breaks had let everyone's spirit down. He leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes, willing the pain away. "It's just a headache," he said softly, feeling the other man's stare over his closed lids.

"Okay. Then go home and take care of it. I'll pick you up in the morning."

"Alright," he conceded with a sigh. "I'll send everyone home."

With some luck, tomorrow would be a better day.

* * *

Nights were especially worse.

If headaches, dizziness and fatigue ruled his days, insomnia haunted his dark hours.

The bed was soft, the duvet comfortable —even the temperature in the room was perfect each time but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't fall asleep.

On good nights, he'd get three hours. He would close his eyes and breath slowly and rhythmically until he dozed off, waking abruptly some time later, gasping as if he'd just surfaced from under water.

On bad nights, barely two. The breaths would catch in his throat and his head would become foggy, like after a hangover but without drinking a drop. He'd toss from one side to the other, or gaze up at the ceiling until he decided he'd had enough, got up and walked downstairs.

Shuffling to the kitchen on yet another sleepless night, Steve grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed out to the lanai to sit on his favorite chair. Everything was dark around him but he didn't mind, welcoming instead the absence of light and colors. The ocean had always been his safe place, the shelter he retreated to when he needed to escape reality. That hadn't changed one bit since he was a kid.

Droplets of salty water sprayed on his skin as he closed his eyes and listened to the soothing sound of the waves rolling in. His lids felt heavy, and he could feel the pull of sleep somewhere at the back of his mind but it was too far away to reach so he tilted his aching head back and let the scent of the sea in his nostrils calm him down.

He knew he couldn't ignore the issue any longer, and resolved to make an appointment with his doctor soon.

As soon as they got the killer.

If only he could manage to get some rest in between.

* * *

In all the years Danny had known him, Steve had never called in sick, missed work or even left early unless he was physically unable to perform his duties. Every time he showed up at the house to pick him up he'd find him already showered, dressed, and drinking his buttered coffee, an empty mug waiting on the counter so he could join him.

So when he found the door locked the next morning, the first thing he did was check his watch to make sure he wasn't too early. Frowning at the validation that he was actually on time, he fished the keys out of his pocket and let himself in, disengaging the alarm.

The living room was dark despite the early morning sun filtering in from the study, and oddly silent.

It looked as if Steve wasn't there, or had failed to catch up with the rest of the workers on the island who were already up and about to start their day.

Danny did a quick search of the first floor, noticing the lack of the usual smell of coffee greeting him from the kitchen and Eddie's barks of excitement. Junior had probably taken the dog out for a run, he figured. The kid was just as crazy about his fitness routine as Steve was.

His mind played back the scene in the office the night before. He knew there was something bothering his friend, had noticed the shift in his behavior since the incident at the bank. Some of it was probably related to the case they were working on, to the stress of running around and finding no leads after almost a week. But Danny was sure there was more to it, though the only thing his partner had admitted to was the headaches he had been suffering from.

"Steve? Rise and shine, buddy, we're gonna be late!" he called as he climbed up the stairs and headed toward the bedroom. "What, you tried to swim to Maui and back and finally realized that you're human?"

Receiving no answer, he cautiously opened the door and stepped inside, surprised —and more than a little concerned, to find Steve still under the covers.

The curtains were drawn and his eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room and the fact that his friend wasn't moving. He could make out his curled shape lying on his side and completely covered by the blankets.

"Steve… you alright?" he asked as he inched closer. Reaching out a hand, he touched what he assumed was his shoulder. "Hey, buddy, you awake?"

Steve drifted back into consciousness, muttering something under his breath. He rolled over and blinked blearily, lifting his head off the pillow. A blurred shape loomed over him but his eyes couldn't focus. It was like watching a bad quality movie, staring at the world in low resolution.

He tensed, trying to sit up.

"Hey, hey, it's me. Calm down!"

Confusion clouded his mind as he propped himself up on one elbow and tried to associate the voice with a name. "Wha… Danny?"

The bed dipped as Danny sat down. "Yes, who else? What's going on, you alright?"

Swallowing hard to fight the ever-present nausea that had reawakened as soon as he had, Steve pushed himself upright and closed his eyes, struggling to remember. Everything was fuzzy around the edges, making it difficult to retrieve the memories he needed.

The lanai.

Sitting outside in the dark.

Bathroom.

Medicine cabinet.

"I... I think I took something to help me sleep."

Which apparently wasn't his brightest idea since he was barely able to function. Gritting his teeth, Steve rubbed his eyes before throwing the covers aside and swung his legs off the bed. His vision slowly sharpened back to normal but the headache was still there, relentless and as painful as ever.

One hand on the mattress for balance, he scrubbed the other over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why are you here?"

Danny gave him a bewildered look, wondering if he should just punch him or drive him straight to the hospital. "Why am I— are you kidding me? Did those pills mess up with your head? I told you I was gonna pick you up. Duke's bringing Makano over so we can interrogate him and we're already late."

Steve had no idea who Makano was and couldn't remember agreeing to his partner picking him up but nodded anyway and stood on unsteady legs, hoping whatever was wrong with his brain would fix itself as the seconds ticked by. He swayed, and instinctively reached out to Danny. A strong hand grabbed his bicep and prevented him from face-planting to the floor.

"Whoa, what's with the wino impersonation? You sure you're alright?"

No, he wasn't, but he wasn't going to let his partner in on that just yet.

"Yeah… pills just make me drowsy."

Grasp still firm on his arm, Danny stared at him like he didn't believe a word he'd said for a long moment, then pointed him towards the bathroom and proceeded to open the curtains.

Pain lanced right between his eyes at the sudden brightness and Steve almost lost his footing again. "Don't— don't do that! Please…" Groaning, he put a hand in front of his eyes to shield them and staggered to the bathroom, closing the door behind him against the offending light.

Bracing his hands on the sink, he took a couple of deep breaths as if he could will the flaring headache away, then searched the mirrored cabinet for something that would, if not keep it at bay, at least lessen its strength.

Ten minutes later, after a shower and a quick shave, he emerged feeling somewhat human again. His memories were still a bit fuzzy, but some of the case details had started to return, including the identity of the suspect they were going to interrogate.

Steve counted his blessings for the small victory, and hoped to be able to get through the day.

* * *

Makano's interrogation led to surprisingly good intel about the location of the criminal they'd been trying to catch, which in turn led to Five-0 rushing to said address, sirens blaring, and executing a raid that they barely had time to prepare.

Danny's concern, spiked by Steve's even-more-reckless-than-usual driving, skyrocketed when his partner failed to respond to him over the comm after disappearing to go after their suspect.

His frantic calls were only met by static, fueling his fears that what he'd witnessed that morning was just the tip of the iceberg and that there was something seriously wrong with Steve that he should have noticed. Tightening the straps of his tac vest, he summoned Junior and Lou and headed towards the side of the building where they'd last seen him.

A humming sound could be heard from the hallway, loud enough to upset their already frayed psyches. Weapons drawn, the trio carefully inspected every room and hidden corner for signs of their missing friend until they noticed a human shape slumped next to the exit door. Danny's initial relief was short-lived when he moved closer and realized it wasn't Steve he was looking at but their killer lying unconscious on the floor, ankles and wrists zip tied so that he couldn't escape.

"What the hell?"

Grover's expletive matched the bewildered expressions on their faces. What they were seeing made no sense. Steve had obviously been there, apprehended the suspect, incapacitated him and then… left?

"Lou…" Danny said, searching his eyes. He needed to move forward, continue to search for Steve.

"I got it, I got it…" the Captain replied, bending over to slap the man's face and haul him to his feet. "Wake up, Princess. Time to go!"

As the serial murderer woke with a start and realized his days as a free man were over, Danny motioned Junior to follow him outside. The young SEAL nodded and raised his MK18, positioning himself on the other side of the back door leading to the alley that branched out to connect the building to a few other neighboring stores.

The humming, even louder now, was coming from one of the neon lights above them, and Danny resisted the urge to shoot the damn thing to make it stop. A moment later, Lou's voice came back through his earbud.

"Danny?"

"What?"

"I had a little chat with our new friend here, and he's volunteered some information about Steve."

"Volunteered?" Danny inquired, imagining just the kind of 'persuasion' it must've taken for a cold-blooded serial murdered like Damon Jay Savage to volunteer anything.

"What can I say?" Grover shrugged. "I can be pretty damn convincing. Anyway, he said Steve looked disoriented, that he could barely stand on his feet and kept grabbing at his head as if he was in pain."

Danny swallowed hard. "Was he hurt?"

"Don't think so. He said that— hey, what'd I tell you? Not another peep or I'll lock your ass up in solitary for the rest of your days!" There was a noise and a grunt as if Grover had punched the guy in the face before he addressed Danny again. "What's going on, man, he alright? If you ask me, he hasn't been himself since that bank robbery…"

"I don't know, Lou, but the minute I find him I'm gonna drag his ass to the hospital whether he likes it or not!"

As he shook his head, relishing the epic rant that he knew would start as soon as he made sure his partner was okay, Junior drew his attention to the left. A few feet away, discarded to the ground, lay Steve's tac vest. Fresh bloodstains were visible on the ground beside it.

Danny stepped forward, a frown on his face.

"The intel was clear, right? Savage had no accomplices?" Worry seeped into Junior's voice as he reasoned out loud to find a suitable explanation.

"No," the blond detective confirmed. "No accomplices. He works alone."

"Then what are we missing?"

"I have no idea, man... I have no idea."

Both men looked around, frantically searching for clues, but there was no sign of Steve anywhere.

What the hell had happened to him?

The question haunted Danny for the longest ten minutes of his life. If he had a penny for every alley he'd searched, every abandoned warehouse they had scoured looking for Steve, he'd be a rich man right now.

Instead, he felt physically sick to his stomach and struggled to push back the unwanted memories that his brain was conjuring up as they turned yet another corner. And finally there he was, propped up against a wall, passed out cold but apparently unharmed except for a bloodied nose.

Danny sighed in relief, until his excitement turned into panic when he tried to rouse him and couldn't.

As Junior called for an ambulance and helped him lie Steve down on his back, he reached out shaky fingers to check for a pulse, and was unable to move them until the paramedic arrived and reassured him that there was nothing serious and that his partner would be alright.

That was, of course, until Danny got his hands on him.

* * *

"Clinical fatigue? What... what is it?"

Danny had an idea of what the words the doctor had just spoken meant. In fact, he had more than one and none of his scenarios was good, but he asked anyway.

Steve was lying on the bed, eyes closed. They had given him enough painkillers to take the edge off his blinding headache but he was still oddly quiet and unresponsive. It was as if he not only trusted Danny, but expected him to be in charge in situations like this.

And Danny obliged, because it made him feel useful, and because he cared deeply about the crazy Neanderthal.

The physician pushed her glasses up her nose and gave him a weary smile. Mid-thirties, posture of a soldier, she had gentle eyes and delicate features, radiating an aura of serenity that had immediately put them at ease. "Commander McGarrett's blood pressure and heart rate are elevated, and his cortisol levels are low. I think that's what caused him to pass out. Now mind you, this is usually a symptom of other underlying conditions, so I'd like to run some tests to know more."

She approached the bed and put a hand on Steve's thigh. "Commander, I'm Doctor Elizabeth Evans. You were unconscious when they brought you in. How are you feeling?"

Danny held his breath, expecting the word 'fine' to come out of his partner's mouth.

"Better," Steve whispered instead. "Thanks, Doc."

"I need to ask you some questions. Is that alright?"

"Yeah."

She studied his medical chart for a moment. "I see Doctor Stewart treated you last week for a bullet graze. Did you hit your head when you fell?"

The former SEAL blinked, unsure of what to say. He still didn't have a clear recollection of what had happened inside the bank after Bernard had shot him, so he turned to Danny who nodded in the affirmative.

"Yes, he did." His gaze instinctively went to the tuff of shorter hair on his friend's head marking the spot they'd had to shave to treat the wound and the still healing scar in the middle of it. Those moments were seared into his memory, and the details of the incident haunted him almost every night.

The young physician nodded as well and turned back to Steve. "How about today? Do you remember what happened before you passed out?"

"Not really. I was chasing a suspect, then there was this … noise. Had to get out of there. I don't know, it's all fuzzy…" he admitted in a disheartened voice.

"Your partner tells me you've been experiencing headaches?"

"Yes. They're growing more frequent and painful."

"What else?" she asked. "And please be honest. The more I know, the better I can help."

Steve sighed in defeat. "Dizziness. Sensitivity to noise and light. Ringing in my ears."

Danny's eyes widened at the list of symptoms his friend had apparently hidden from him.

"Do you have trouble sleeping?" The doctor continued, writing notes on her patient's chart.

"Yeah. I, uh... I also experienced a few episodes of short-term memory loss." He glanced briefly towards Danny then settled his gaze on the doctor. "This is messing with my life, Doc, how do I fix it?"

She smiled at him warmly. "I'm afraid there's no easy fix, Commander. I'll have the nurse draw some blood while I schedule your tests. I'll know more once the results are in."

Resigned, Steve leaned back against the pillow and raised one arm to cover his eyes. "Okay. Thanks, Doc."

"You're welcome. Try to get some rest, you've earned it."

"I'll walk you out," Danny said as he opened the door and followed her outside.

Nervously wringing his hands, he waited until she was done instructing the nurse before voicing his concerns. "So, uh... what do you think it is? Is he gonna be alright?"

Doctor Evans put her hands into the pockets of her white coat. "I have an idea, but like I said I want to run some tests first. I'll see you in a few hours, Detective. Have the nurse page me if anything changes."

"Will do. Thank you."

Danny watched her disappear inside one of the elevators and started to pace to let off some steam. While he knew there was nothing life-threatening —well, nothing new at least, he could sense this was not one of their regular trips to the ER and wished his friend had told him what was bothering him.

Even after nearly a decade of friendship, Steve lived by this weird belief that he should deal with his problems on his own. Danny didn't agree, but had learned to understand it and give him the space he needed.

With a veil of sadness clouding his features, he went back to Steve's room. His partner was in the same position as he'd left him, but he could tell he wasn't asleep.

"You should've told me," he said softly, pulling the nearby chair and sitting down beside him.

Steve gave him an apologetic look as he picked at the edge of his blanket. "I honestly thought it would pass."

"Instead it got worse."

"Yeah. My head's not…" he started, trying to explain. "It's not like it was before. There's a weight… like a shadow…" A muscle in his jaw twitched with barely contained frustration. "I can't explain it. I can hardly understand it myself, Danny, let alone tell you..."

Moved by the sincerity and the anguish in his friend's voice, the Jersey native put a reassuring hand on his forearm. "You don't need to explain anything, especially not right now. Do me a favor, alright? Get some sleep like the doctor said. I'll be here when you wake up."

Steve nodded. "Thanks, Danny."

Relaxing in his chair, he watched Steve slowly doze off. His head lolled onto the pillow, his eyelids slipped closed and his body went limp. Coming from a week of barely getting any sleep, the man was completely exhausted, and the medications they'd given him were finally allowing him the rest he so desperately needed. In spite of the situation, Danny allowed a small smile to curl his lips as he listened to his friend's now even breaths. The expression on his face no longer stressed by pain and the constraints of his conscious mind, Steve looked vulnerable and childlike, and Danny wished he could see this side of him more often.

Pushing aside the overwhelming feeling to protect him at all costs, he took out his cell phone and updated the team.

* * *

"I take it you know what it is."

"I do. I just…"

"You just never thought it could happen to you," the young physician smiled sympathetically. "I understand. It's not uncommon for people affected by PCS to downplay the extent of their symptoms or avoid acknowledging them."

Pressing his lips together, Steve tried to process what Doctor Evans had told him.

All his tests – MRI, x-rays, blood analysis, had come back negative. Just like they had after the shooting. And yet she seemed positive she knew what was wrong with him.

PCS. Post-concussion syndrome.

He had heard of that during active duty, had seen sailors affected by it. Only, like he had sheepishly admitted, with all that was already going on with him health-wise he didn't think he'd have to add another illness to the list.

Beside him, forehead creased, Danny was equally struggling to deal with the diagnosis. _"_Doc, can you, uh...can you explain to me what that means, please? In English?"

She looked at Steve, then back at him. "Of course. Post-concussion syndrome is a complex disorder. The symptoms your partner's experiencing — headaches, dizziness, sleep problems, are caused by structural damage to the brain or the nerves from the impact that induced the concussion.

"So it is related to what happened last week?"

"Yes and no." Noticing the puzzled expression on her patient's face, she turned her attention on him. "What happened at the bank can be considered the last straw, but according to your medical history, your lifestyle is a likely factor. Previous concussions, prolonged recoveries, post-traumatic stress disorder. I often see this in soldiers, so it's no surprise that a member of the government's elite has been affected by it. You've been putting yourself in harm's way for decades, Commander. I'd say you're lucky it's only happening now."

Steve didn't feel lucky at all, but he pushed the retort back down.

"How do you treat it?"

Once again, it was Danny who voiced what he had in mind.

The doctor folded her arms across her chest. "Management of PCS is mostly a matter of resting and allowing the brain's natural recovery process the time to heal. We'll put together a plan, a regime of medications and therapy, but it may take weeks for it to work, if not months."

Steve's face lost what little color had regained.

_Months?_

This wasn't happening.

This couldn't be true.

Doctor Evans stepped over to the bed. "Commander, I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but I'm not going to sugarcoat this and you need to know that things could get worse before they get better. It's important that you understand that." She watched him nod in agreement even if the storm in his eyes said otherwise. "Now, I assume you have a fitness routine?"

"I do," Steve said, still reeling from the shock of another long-term illness. "I swim and run every morning."

"I'd recommend you stop doing that, at least for now. While there are studies that have shown a link between increased physical activity and quicker recovery, I don't want you to strain yourself at this stage. We can reassess that in a couple of weeks."

Feeling numb and completely overwhelmed, he saw Danny collapse into the chair next to the bed and lower his head, eyes closed. And when the pain-relieving effects of the medications wore off and the ringing in his ears returned a few moments later, Steve let it drown every other sound and tuned the world out.

* * *

"_Doc, how can I help him?"_

"_By being understanding and supportive."_

_Sighing in defeat, Danny looked at Doctor Evans like a drowning man desperate for salvation._

"_Detective Williams, __PCS can be extremely disruptive. Patients have to adjust to avoid activities and situations that cause their symptoms to worsen, and it can seriously impact their personal and professional life." _

_She put a hand on his bicep and steered him out of earshot._

"_Commander McGarrett may have to progressively remove himself from loud, bright, crowded, or over-stimulating situation. He may not be able to handle noises or crowds, but he will still need to spend time with friends so offer a movie night, or just pay him a visit and talk. Offer encouragement, remind him that this is likely temporary and that he'll get back to his old routine when he's feeling better."_

_Danny nodded. _

_He could do that. They barely had a social life anyway, and enjoying each other's company had always been far more preferable than any gathering or crowded event._

"_What about work? That's… Steve's afraid he won't be able to do the job anymore, and I know for a fact that it would absolutely kill him."_

_Doctor Evans lowered his gaze. "That might be a little more complicated," she said with a sigh._

"_Right now, his brain is overloaded with stimuli. I'm not sure it's a good idea for him to lead a task force or even carry a gun."_

"_He's not gonna like this..."_

"_I know. I'll discuss it with him later."_

Three weeks had passed since Danny's heartfelt conversation with Doctor Evans, and things had only gone downhill from there. Steve's symptoms hadn't improved, and the mood swings resulting from that were putting his patience —and their friendship, to the test.

Danny understood his partner was scared and upset. He had every right to be. Confined in the house for the best part of his days, he had turned into a caged animal whose only defense was to lash out at everyone who tried to get close.

Work was everything to Steve, and colliding with a reality that had forcibly teared him away from it had been too much to handle.

He had tried going in at first, thinking he might just need to reduce the workload and everything would be fine. What he found out instead was that he also had vision problems and difficulties concentrating, which made it impossible for him to be out in the field. And that was just what Danny had figured out. God knows what he was actually hiding under his 'tough guy' exterior.

Realizing that the kind of normalcy, the reassuring routine he'd come to rely on to get through his days had been disrupted, Steve didn't know what to do with himself or how to address his fears and all the pent-up energy building up inside him.

So he had segregated himself at the house.

The usually bright and welcoming place was now always dark. He claimed it helped him with the light sensitivity, but Danny felt it was Steve's way of shutting everyone and everything out.

When he wasn't in bed trying to sleep through the headaches he would sit on his recliner, lost in whatever world he escaped to try and cope with the situation. He had systematically declined every invitation and every offer received. Politely, but decisively. Even the thought of spending time with Charlie hadn't appealed to him, and he loved the kid as if he was his own.

Concerned, Danny had called the doctor, inquiring about the changes in personality and the apathy towards everything that his friend had always enjoyed. She'd said it was unfortunate but expected, that the more active the patient's lifestyle was the more difficult it was to learn to deal with the rest of the world going on with their lives while they got stuck in a loop of pain and despair.

She had repeated the same advice. Be understanding and supportive.

Danny was trying. God help him he was, but it was getting harder and harder.

* * *

Steve stood in the middle of his living room, breathing harshly, a stricken expression on his face.

Staring at the closed front door that his best friend had just slammed behind him, he realized that he'd gone too far, probably alienating the only person on the planet who still gave a damn about him. The only person he cared about more than everyone else.

Danny had been nothing but supportive during his whole ordeal, and he'd repaid him by being an unappreciative ass, directing his anger at him when he should've focused it on himself and failing to control his reactions like the Navy had drilled into him for decades.

Taking a wobbly step back, he slowly blinked huge, watery eyes.

He had made a mistake.

A huge, inexcusable mistake.

The sound of the Camaro pulling away from the driveway felt deafening to his ears.

As his heart hammered into his chest and breathing suddenly became a struggle, Steve clamped his trembling fingers over his mouth and sank onto the recliner.

"_What if I can't be a cop anymore, Danny?"_

_It had taken him weeks to finally voice his biggest fear since being diagnosed with PCS. They'd just come back from one of his checkups and his already foul mood had plummeted at the doctor's admission that maybe things weren't going as they'd hoped. That, along with an unpleasant ride home that had seen him gripping the roof handle, eyes closed, and breathing through his nose so he wouldn't get sick, had reawakened a side of him he rarely brought to life._

"_No one said that." Danny replied, trying his best to do damage control. Heart equally heavy, he had followed his friend into the house knowing that a storm was about to break and hoping to contain it as much as he could. "The doc still thinks the damage isn't permanent. Your brain just needs time to heal."_

"_It's been four weeks!"_

"_So what? What if you need four more? It's gonna get better, Steve. You just have to believe it."_

_But Steve couldn't. Right now, it was just too hard. _

"_Doctor Evan's plan is not working," he said, wincing at the intensity of his own voice. "I take dozens of medications every day and I'm not getting better! I just can't do this anymore..."_

_Danny moved closer, placing a tentative hand on his arm. "Babe, come on. I know you're scared, but she said it was going to take time. You just have to be patient and do whatever it takes to help your recovery."_

"_There is no recovery, Danny!" Steve exploded, recoiling from his partner's touch and walking away from him. "Can't you see it? I've made zero progress. There's no guarantee that I'll even get better, let alone heal completely, and I'm just tired! I'm tired of it all..."_

_He took his throbbing head between his hands, feeling utterly defeated but at the same time extremely outraged._

"_You're not a quitter, Steve."_

"_Yeah, well, maybe this time I am!"_

_Danny's expression hardened. "Alright, you know what? You wanna wallow in self-pity do it on your own. I'm going home to my son, who is more mature than you are and who by the way, is still asking to see you. But maybe you don't care about him either!"_

_Mouth set in a tight line, hands resting on his hips in his signature 'badass Commander' stance, Steve searched through the fog in his brain for something to say, glaring at his friend as he did so as if daring him to act on his threat. _

_He could see the way Danny was looking at him, waiting for a reaction that would dispute his theory, but the anger coursing through his veins was too powerful and he couldn't stop it, couldn't help the hostility in his eyes and the rigid posture and demeanor screaming 'Leave, I don't need you' while his heart begged him not to._

_In the end, no sound made it past the lump in his throat._

"_You son of a bitch..." Danny hissed, nailing him with his own angry stare when he realized his partner wasn't going to stop him, and in the next moment he was gone._

Closing his eyes, Steve willed everything to stop spinning.

His skull felt like it was being ripped in two, and there was a crushing weight on his chest that had nothing to do with his condition.

How could he have been so stupid?

He hadn't meant to imply he didn't care about Charlie. He would lay his life down for the kid in a heartbeat. Truthfully, in his confused state he wasn't even sure what he meant. What was painfully clear to him now was that he couldn't recognize himself anymore, and that he despised the man he had become.

He had allowed this illness to take everything good from him, something he hadn't even let the transplant do, or the radiation poisoning he'd been diagnosed with.

Maybe it was the thought of something else hanging over him, of shit piling up on more shit. Maybe it was the last straw, but whatever it was had hit him hard and completely messed with his reasoning.

In the span of a few weeks, he had turned from the strong task force leader everyone had come to respect to a fragile being who didn't know what to do with his days because even getting out of bed was a hassle.

Speed made him dizzy, turning basic, everyday activities like driving or even riding an elevator into a struggle. Bright lights and loud noises made his headache spike, so he had systematically given up everything he liked, everything that made him who he was, and alienated himself from all of his friends.

If there was a way out of this, he just couldn't see it right now.

Heart heavy with sadness and regret, Steve sat in the living room for the longest time, replaying the whole scene in his head until he could no longer stand it, then staggered to the kitchen to get his meds.

Doctor Evans had recommended taking them on a full stomach, but food was the last thing on his mind so he just swallowed them and headed upstairs, collapsing onto the bed without even bothering to change.

The last conscious thought before he succumbed to a fitful sleep was the hope that Danny would find it in his heart to forgive him.

* * *

"Sir… ah, Steve? You alright?"

Junior couldn't hide the worry in his tone as he knocked on his friend and mentor's bedroom door and hesitantly turned it open. It was four in the morning, and he had been woken by the sound of something crashing to the ground. Knowing the man's current vulnerabilities and his frazzled state, he had made it his business to be even more alert than usual in case he needed him, bolting out of bed every night at the slightest sound.

"Yeah, I… sorry I woke you up, man," came the strained voice from inside.

Opening the door all the way to let some of the light from the hallway in, Junior saw him crouched by the nightstand and immediately stepped forward, fearing another spell of sickness. There had been a few recently, each of them leaving him weak and completely wrung-out. Only when he got closer he realized that Steve was trying to pick up the lamp that he'd apparently knocked down.

"I just…" he tried awkwardly. "I was reaching for my cell phone…"

_To check if there were messages or calls from Danny, like he had been doing for the past two days. _

He looked miserable, and the young SEAL felt a pang of protectiveness coursing through him.

"Here, let me take care of it," he said as he knelt down next to him and handily took the broken lamp, unplugged it and put it on the drawer so he could take it downstairs with him later.

Noticing Steve hadn't moved from his position and was staring numbly at the phone clutched in his hand, he squatted by his side again and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to call anyone?"

He knew about the fallout between him and Danny. Everyone on the team knew, and had taken it upon themselves to fix it before it was too late.

"No. Thanks, man. Go back to bed."

"You sure?" Junior asked as he helped him up and onto the bed.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Steve sighed, not nearly as fine as he wanted the young man to believe.

Junior nodded unconvincingly. "I'll come back with your medications at six. Call me if you need anything."

Resisting the urge to hover until he was satisfied his boss really didn't need him, he left him sitting on the edge of the bed and closed the door, heading to the guest bedroom to get his own phone and make a call.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Danny almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Lou's deep voice. The man had materialized behind him with a stealth approach worthy of... someone he didn't want to think about right now. "What you mean, what am I doing? I'm taking a stroll to the beach, what do you think?" He countered, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the question. "I'm locking my car with this key... see?" he made a show of raising his hand and pointing to the object in question, unable to hide the annoyance at the sudden ambush.

Lou gave him a 'enough with the attitude' look. "With Steve. What are you doing with Steve? Trying to prove a point or something?"

Danny's posture stiffened. "It's none of your business."

"It is when it messes with my sleep," Lou noted dryly. "Junior called me this morning. Four am. Said the man was miserable and staring at his phone like a teenager in love." He watched Danny screw up his face in a 'what the fuck?' expression and shook his head in frustration. "Now maybe you're right, maybe it's none of my business but whatever he did, he's not in his right mind and you know it so don't take it out on him."

"Take it out on him? I'm not the one who —you know what, I don't wanna talk about this!" He said, waving him off as he headed towards the Palace.

"I know you're scared, man," Grover pressed, easily catching up with him with a few, long strides. "I know you're scared he's not going to get better. Well, guess what, so is he, so for god's sake just stop this nonsense, alright?"

The words stopped him in his tracks right by the building's entrance and he hung his head, feeling like a jackass.

He had never been able to stay mad at Steve for long, and the fifty-two hours that had passed since their argument felt just as painful to him as they apparently were for the stubborn putz.

It was killing him not knowing how he was doing, not being able to help. The part of him that had felt unappreciated and dismissed had shrunk to a barely noticeable size, leaving him in a constant state of worry and barely able to focus on anything else.

Lou was right.

Steve was sick, and he should have never abandoned him.

* * *

"Hello."

"Danny..."

The barely-whispered word surprised him a few minutes later as he sat in his office, head bowed, brooding over Lou's words and trying to decide what to do.

Steve hadn't been himself lately and that, as painful as it was, should've earned him the benefit of the doubt. But what people failed to grasp, or easily mistook for selfishness, was that Danny was hurting too. In the blink of an eye, he had found himself without both a work partner and the best friend he relied on more often than he cared to acknowledge and had been mourning the loss, albeit temporary, of the person Steve used to be and the relationship they had.

Week after week of caring with barely a grunt of acknowledgement in return, let alone a thank you, had slowly consumed him. The non-response about Charlie had just been the tipping point.

Yet he valued their friendship too much, and the thought that despite his state, Steve cared enough to take the first step quickly dissolved whatever doubt Danny had left.

"You alright?" he asked, always the first thing on his mind.

Steve's heart was beating a mile a minute, but he swallowed hard and tried not to show it. "Yeah. Listen, I... I'm sorry, man. I was an ass."

_There._ _He had said it._

The McGarrett men didn't do well with words and he was no exception, especially now that his brain wasn't working at its full capacity. Still, he'd had to suck it up and admit his mistake because sick or not, there was no way he could go on living without his best friend.

On the other end of the line, Danny sighed. There was a tiny part of him that was still hurt by Steve's behavior and having a hard time dealing with it. "Yeah, you were."

The admission felt like a stab to the former SEAL's heart.

"You know I care about Charlie."

"I know."

In the confines of his dark bedroom, Steve gripped the phone harder and pushed himself to voice his feelings. "I didn't mean to— I don't know what I was thinking and I feel terrible about it."

"You probably weren't thinking, Steve," Danny said, sounding weary and more harsh than he had intended. "You've been driving me crazy for weeks."

The device almost fell from Steve's hand.

_Damn_.

Danny sure wasn't going to make things easy for him.

A long pause followed.

Steve's thumb hovered over the red button on his phone's screen as he actually considered putting an end to his misery. He hadn't expected such a reaction from Danny and wasn't ready to handle it. But then his friend's voice came back on the line, and he started breathing again.

"Alright, that came out wrong, I apologize," the Jersey native said with genuine regret in his tone. "You're sick, I shouldn't have taken it so personally."

Chastising himself, he imagined how hard it had to be for Steve to go from being Superman and having control over his life to feeling like crap all the time.

"That why you called?"

"No, I..." Steve stammered. "Yes, that too. I called because I miss you. I woke up this morning with no headache for the first time in weeks and I couldn't wait to tell my best friend about it. I couldn't wait to tell _you_. I... I need to know that we're okay."

Another strained moment passed.

"Listen, I know I pushed you away but I can't do this alone, Danny. I'm sorry I took it out on you, man. I really am."

Danny squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears. He didn't know if he could do it either. They had become so dependent on each other that he honestly couldn't imagine his life without Steve.

It was just an argument.

They were stronger than that.

Plus, that was the most eloquent his partner had been when talking about his feelings since the beginning of their friendship. It meant he truly believed what he'd said.

"You really feeling better?" he asked, needing further confirmation because it was a major improvement and it gave him hope that Steve was on the way to recovery.

"Yeah, I am."

"Good. That's good. Maybe I can swing by later so we can talk about it."

Steve's lips quirked upwards. "I'd like that."

"Alright, I'm gonna get dressed and go to work now, alright? You take care of yourself."

Rising to his feet, Steve slowly opened the curtains behind the bed. He squinted at the morning sun, but the stabbing sensation was gone and he breathed in relief.

Maybe things were finally getting better.

"I love you, buddy," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Danny ducked his head, his mouth twitching as he fought a smile and lost, breaking into a boyish grin. "I love you too."

THE END


	9. Adrift and (not nearly) at Peace

**Adrift and (not nearly) at Peace**

* * *

A/N: Hello everyone, hope you're having a good summer. Here's my latest story. It's... different, to say the least, as I have chosen to write about something we've never seen on the show, a side of Danny that I was curious to explore. So this has been an experiment, and I'm looking forward to reading your opinions about it to know if my characterization reflects what we've seen on screen for nine years.

It is also the most McDanno story a non-McDanno author like me has ever written so some of you might appreciate that too... ;)

I do not own Hawaii Five-0, but I do have an awesome beta reader who makes sure there's no grammar mistakes or inconsistencies. Thank you, Susan, I owe you!

* * *

"Hey Rach, you guys having fun?"

Danny couldn't help the smile on his face as he saw his ex-wife's name on his phone's screen and the candid shot of her and the kids he'd chosen as her profile picture. Rachel had taken them both to the mainland for Grace's orientation at the college she would be attending in the fall, gifting Charlie with a surprise trip to the zoo after that so he wouldn't feel left out.

Things were good between them now. Not early-marriage-days good, because that bliss was long gone, but decent enough that they could spend time together and enjoy it without wanting to kill each other.

Something had shifted after Grace's accident, bringing them closer. Danny wasn't sure what that was, and was taking tentative steps to try and understand it. One of those steps had brought him to plan a trip to Kauai, where he was hoping she'd agree to go for a few days without the kids.

Maybe it was a bit rash, so much so that he hadn't even told Steve about it.

Maybe it would lead to something good, whatever that meant.

There was only one way to find out.

He heard her breathing on the other end of the line, then one of those breaths faltered and she began to speak.

"Danny, I don't want you to worry but something's happened."

The words, spoken in a calm tone meant to reassure him, only managed to make his heart rate quicken. Her phone call had surprised him as he and the team were about to execute a raid. Always prepared, he'd already donned his tac vest and checked his M16, and figured it wouldn't hurt to talk to her briefly while the others did the same.

"What?" He asked, taking a few steps forward, away from the team, and feeling Steve's stare on him as he moved. "What you mean something happened, are you alright?"

"We're okay, Danny, really," she repeated. "Just a little fender-bender is all."

Danny scrubbed a hand over his face as his mind unwillingly started to conjure up different scenarios and reawakened recent, painful memories. "You were in a car accident?"

"Yes. This guy ran a red light and hit us on the side, but it was nothing serious. No one got hurt, just the car."

_Us_...

"Wait... was— was Charlie with you?"

She had texted him right after she'd dropped Grace off on campus so he knew his daughter at least wasn't with them.

_But Charlie..._

"Yes. And he's fine. A bit shaken but okay."

Danny felt as if the earth had given way under his feet. "Oh god..." he whispered, clamping a shaky hand over his mouth. "I'm— I'll be there as soon as I can."

He started moving, walking back towards the car when Rachel's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Danny... no, Danny listen to me, there's no need to. We really are okay. I'm just telling you because we agreed to no more lies, and because the rental car company might call you about it since it was your credit card that paid for it."

"Rachel, I..." he tried as his blood pressure rose.

"I haven't told Grace yet. We were on our way back after dropping her off when—"

"Put him on the phone."

"What?"

"Charlie. Put him on the phone, I wanna talk to him." If he wasn't jumping on the first plane to the mainland, he was at least going to make sure the kid was unharmed.

"Danny..."

"Please, Rachel. Put my son on the phone..."

"Okay," she conceded. "One moment."

Danny looked around, noticing that his team was almost ready to break in. His eyes met Steve's, and he raised a finger to let him know that he needed an extra minute. The Five-0 leader recognized the serious look on his face and nodded that it was okay, then started to give instructions to the others.

"Danno!"

Charlie's cheerful voice focused him back to the events unfolding far, too far away.

"Hey, buddy, you alright?"

"Yeah. Mommy and I got into an accident but we're okay," he recounted excitedly as if it was the coolest thing he'd ever experienced. "The other man is bleeding, he got hurt when our cars flew in the air."

Danny's heart seized in his chest and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

"The car _flew_?" he repeated, eyes wide with barely restrained terror. Morbid images of his son's small body crushed by steel and metal floated through his mind and he swallowed hard, forcing them away.

So much for a fender-bender and no more lies.

In the background, he could hear his ex-wife's voice trying — and failing— to stop Charlie from blurting out every single detail.

"Yeah," the kid went on, unfazed. "I got scared, but only for a moment. Then I remembered what you and uncle Steve told me and I wasn't afraid anymore."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. You told me that you and mommy will always protect me so I don't have to be afraid, and Uncle Steve said I'm the bravest kid he knows. He knows a lot of people, Danno..."

Danny closed his eyes, overwhelmed with emotions. His child had tried to be strong as their car fucking _ flew in the air _because the two people he looked up to the most in the world had told him he had no reason to.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked, trying to keep his own panic at bay.

"Yeah. The man from the ambulance listened to my heart and said I was fine."

"He did, huh? That's good. That's really good. I'm very happy to hear that. Now, I need you to do something for me, alright? Put mommy back on the phone." His voice wavered, shaky with distress. "I love you, buddy, and I'll see you soon."

"Love you too, Danno," Charlie said proudly before handing the phone back to Rachel. "Mommy, Danno wants to talk to you!"

"Thank you, honey. Go sit with the nice paramedic, I'll be just a minute." As soon as she got back on the line, she reprised her litany of reassurances. "Danny, it's alright. We just got hit and the car skidded. It probably felt like flying to Charlie but I swear to you, we're fine. We're still scheduled to get home tomorrow. A police car is going to drive us to the hotel to rest and I'll take him to the zoo in the morning as planned."

Unexpectedly, she was only met with silence.

"Daniel?"

Danny was swallowing convulsively, trying to push down the lump that had formed in his throat. "Yeah, I'm... I'm right here," he replied, his voice broken. He couldn't see the rest of his team anymore, and as much as he hated it he knew he needed to cut the call short. "Please take care of our son..."

"You know I will."

Part of him still wanted to tell her that he'd be on the next flight out but he got distracted when Lou suddenly came running, a sense of urgency tightening his face. "I'm sorry, man, we gotta go! Steve and Junior are already inside."

_Shit_.

Torn between the need to make sure his family was alright and the will to back his partner up he gripped the phone tighter, clenching his jaw in frustration.

"Promise you'll call me later," he finally said. "Let me know how he's doing."

When Rachel did, he reluctantly ended the call and ran inside the building.

* * *

There were moments —rare, specific moments, where Danny wished he possessed Steve's compartmentalizing skills.

Being a cop, he'd had his share of training, and was usually able to lock down his emotions pretty well. And yet, when those moments hit they always found him unprepared, and whatever training he was supposed to use felt suddenly out of reach.

Just like now, as he watched his partner leap off yet another roof and disappear from his sight.

With the events involving Rachel and Charlie still too fresh in his mind, the ever-present fear for his partner's well-being was skyrocketing against his will, tightening his chest and doubling his heart rate.

"I can't do this..." he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. "I can't…"

A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he turned to find Lou standing beside him.

"He needs this, you know?" the older man said as they both heard the familiar bang of McGarrett's gun. "He's gonna be alright."

Danny opened his mouth to voice the rant that had been building up inside his gut since the whole chase started but stopped himself and sighed instead, lacking the energy and the motivation to do it. He knew Grover was offering support and appreciated it, so he nodded at his friend before walking back to his car.

Out of breath and with a slight limp, sporting a bruise on the left side of his cheek, his partner joined him a few minutes later, the perp he'd been after — cuffed and subdued — walking unsteadily in front of him. Steve roughly pushed him in Lou's direction and moved to sit on the hood of the Camaro, unfastening his vest.

Danny watched the whole scene, right hand curling and uncurling around his weapon, not saying a word.

There was a part of Steve that still failed to acknowledge that he was just mortal and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. That his bones could break, or he could get hit by a car while crossing the street. He had slowed down, Danny had to admit, but could still learn a lesson or two about taking better care of himself and avoiding unnecessary risks if he really planned on staying on the job for 15/20 more years like he'd recently declared.

Oblivious to his partner's inner turmoil, Steve finished removing the rest of his tac gear and looked at Danny, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yo, everything okay?"

The Jersey native waved him off, still overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions that had washed over him since Rachel's phone call. He was having a hard time dealing with them and the one that was winning, the only feeling that made sense to him right now was the one he was afraid to unleash.

Anger.

Frowning at the lack of response Steve studied him, aware that a quiet Danny meant a dangerous, ready-to-explode time bomb. He replayed the arrest in his mind, trying to figure out what could have set him off.

"You mad at me or something?" he tried again, deciding it was the chase through the rooftops that had probably given his friend a coronary. In ten years of partnership, he couldn't tell how many times they'd argued about his 'unconventional' techniques. Whether it'd be another decade or a lifetime, Danny would never get used to it.

His levity quickly morphed into concern when he noticed the tightly-clenched jaw and met his suspiciously bright eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Almost cracking under the intensity of Steve's gaze, Danny tried to say something to reassure them both but again, no words came out. He stood there, mouth agape, unable to put into words the fear and guilt that were slowly engulfing him.

Steve stared at him, confusion written all over his face. He pushed himself off the hood and started to walk up to him when Junior drew his attention.

"Sir, I have Sergeant Lukela for you on the phone."

Sighing, the former SEAL cast another glance at his obviously troubled partner and took the cellphone, occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes as he tried to focus on what the veteran officer was telling him.

When Duke asked him to go back inside the building to check for a hidden safe he'd been assured contained the drug Five-0 had been unable to find, Steve motioned for Danny to wait for him and reluctantly complied.

They seized the illegal substance, made sure the chain of custody was airtight and secured their prisoner into HPD's hands. Fifteen minutes later, all tasks completed, Steve returned to where he'd last seen his partner but Danny was no longer there.

All that was left was two tire marks where the Camaro had been.

* * *

Hours went by, and still Danny hurt.

After watching Steve leave with a sense of dread in his stomach, unable to deal with the possibility of more bad news staining his day he had driven straight home, locked the door behind him and collapsed on the couch.

There were barely any memories after that.

Rachel had called, as promised, reporting that Charlie was doing as good as expected. He had sighed in relief, relishing a short moment of respite. Then all the emotions he'd been battling had come back, hitting him with the force of a hurricane that leaves only devastation in its wake.

The constant through it all, Steve's relentless tries to get in touch with him.

Missed calls, texts, voicemails.

Inquiries, concerned words, threats to come find him. Wherever he was.

After a while, Danny had turned the phone off so it wouldn't bother him. He didn't feel like talking or explaining things to anyone. Not even his best friend.

When it became too much, and his own living room seemed to close in on him he scrambled for the keys and rushed out of the house as if it was on fire, ignoring the car parked nearby and breaking into a jog to run away. As far as possible.

Where to, he didn't know.

Why, he couldn't tell.

It was a physical need, like the urge to draw air into his lungs. If he stopped, he thought he would explode.

His wandering eventually brought him to a bar, in an area he barely remembered ever visiting before.

The hinges squealed as he opened the door and was immediately welcomed by the smell of alcohol invading his nostrils and the noise coming from inside. There was music in the background, some 80's tune he should've been familiar with but couldn't recall. Laughter, from one of the corners where a group of men was playing cards gathered in front of a Jack Daniel's. A heated conversation on the opposite side, between two people who had obviously surpassed their alcohol intake limit for the day.

Danny hesitantly moved forward, asking himself what the hell he was doing in this place and yet seeking the anonymity it provided like a homeless man needing shelter.

He wasn't a heavy drinker, only allowing himself the occasional glass every once in a while, but today called for a reset and he desperately needed to erase the images of Rachel's car flying — metaphorically or not— in the air with his son inside and Steve leaping through roofs with no regards for his safety.

Along the wall, behind the counter, dozens of bottles reflecting different hues of amber lined two shelves. He dropped onto a stool and raised a shaky finger to call the bartender, a young woman with a big tribal tattoo covering her arm and part of her chest. "Whiskey, straight."

She gave him a smile and put a shot glass in front of him, filling it to the brim.

Danny nodded to her and drank it in one gulp.

Another man was slumped in the seat beside him, looking older than he probably was, nursing his drink with a vacant stare in his eyes. He wondered if by the end of the night he'd have the same look and decided he didn't care.

One shot became five, peanuts were replaced by chips, and an indefinite time later he found himself staring into his partner's very concerned eyes.

"What the hell are you doing, man, I've been looking all over for you!"

Danny blinked owlishly, wondering if it was his alcohol-addled brain conjuring him up or if the man was really standing in front of him, looking haggard and uncharacteristically angry.

"How'd you find me?"

"Doesn't matter," Steve replied curtly, gratefully nodding at the bartender who had called HQ when she recognized his partner after seeing him on the news about the drugs Five-0 had confiscated during the bust. "How long has he been going on?" he asked her.

"Couple of hours."

Shaking his head, he handed her his credit card to pay for the tab. "Thanks for calling, I appreciate it."

The young woman shrugged. "I figured something bad happened on the job, you know? I see too many cops getting wasted..." She sighed as she stared at the Five-0 leader, a sad look in her eyes that told him she'd been there before. "Not that he's gonna forget. In the morning he's gonna have all the same memories and a hangover to go with it."

Nodding, Steve wondered exactly what kind of memories were haunting his friend. As far as he knew, Danny had seemed fine until after the raid, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what had caused this reaction.

"I can hear you, you know? I'm not so drunk that I'm... blind."

Steve moved the glass away from his partner's hand. "It's all right, man, no one thinks you're blind. What are you doing?" he asked, because the last thing he'd expected was to have to rescue an intoxicated Danny from a bar.

Danny, the level-headed one who never lost control.

"Drinking," the Jersey native shrugged as if the question was so painfully obvious it didn't even warrant a response.

"Why?"

Danny patted Steve's hand away and reached for his glass, taking another sip of whiskey.

"Because life sucks Steven, and I'd rather not be reminded of it today..."

Steve raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "You're not making sense, man, what's going on? Was it something I did?"

"I need to get up," was Danny's completely unrelated reply.

"What?"

"Bathroom. Gotta go."

His legs almost buckled as he stood, and he wobbled dangerously until Steve grabbed his bicep to steady him.

"Alright, let's go."

"No, no, I go," Danny countered, putting a hand on Steve's chest as if just that could stop him. "You... you stay right here. And by here I mean on this stool." His other hand tapped the wooden seat. "Make sure no one steals it because I'm not done yet. Sit down, talk to the nice lady... I'll be back, eventually..."

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not letting you out of my sight, Danno. I'm coming with you."

"I'm not... I am a detective... a police sergeant."

"Yes, you are."

"And I don't need..." he said, shaking his finger as he tried to squirm out of Steve's grasp. "I don't need a Navy SEAL escort to take a leak!"

"Didn't know you drank like that, buddy..." Steve muttered to himself, ignoring his friend's complaints and steering him towards the back of the bar.

This was uncharted territory for him. Despite seeing many of his fellow sailors fall prey to alcohol and being on a few benders himself it hurt to see Danny like this, and he braced himself for the man's reaction once he sobered up and realized what he'd done.

The trip to the bathroom lasted longer than Steve would have liked, but he eventually managed to guide Danny back to where he'd been seating and retrieved his credit card.

"Is he gonna be okay?" the bartender asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, he will. Let's go, man."

Danny crossed his arms over his chest, staring at him with a defiant look. "'m not done."

Steve put his hands on his hips, unperturbed. "You're standing on my foot, Danny, let's go."

The Jersey native looked down at his feet, realizing he was indeed ruining Steve's new and probably pricey blue sneakers and started to giggle, then took a step backwards and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Sorry..."

"Come on, let's get out of here."

"How about a last call?"

"You already had one."

"A really, really last call then?" Danny pouted.

"Danny..."

"I cannot believe this. I can't believe... the way... you're treating me. How long have we known each other?"

"Ten years," Steve sighed. Right now, it felt like a hundred.

"Ten years..." Danny repeated, turning towards the bartender with a dramatic shake of the head. "Ten years I've known him, and he always bosses me around..." Even as he said that, he allowed his friend to lead him out the door and into the parking lot.

The world was starting to spin, and the Silverado seemed a million miles away. He breathed, in through his nose, out through the mouth, struggling to keep his balance.

"You going to get sick?" Steve asked. He had slipped one arm around his waist, basically holding most of his weight, and was carrying him along the sidewalk.

"Dunno," he replied, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

When they finally made it to where the Silverado was parked, Steve propped him up against the side of the truck as he fished the keys out of his pockets and unlocked the vehicle.

Danny managed to keep the position for about three seconds, then slowly slid to the ground, his back resting against one of the giant wheels.

"You alright, buddy?"

"No," Danny replied through gritted teeth. He was crashing hard and fast, and the cars around him kept swaying sickeningly.

"Hang in there, we're gonna be home soon."

Although Steve had no intention of dropping his partner anywhere other than his own house where he could keep an eye on him, the next words out of Danny's mouth came as a surprise.

"Not... home. Please. Not tonight..."

There was a hint of desperation straining his voice that almost broke Steve's heart.

"It's alright, I got you," he reassured him.

He kneeled next to him, placed his fingers under his chin and tilted his head up. Even under the streetlights he could see that his best friend looked like hell. His face was pale and stubbled, with deep, dark shadows under bloodshot eyes.

"What's wrong, buddy? What happened today?"

When Danny met his gaze, it took the former SEAL a moment to recognize the emotion stirring behind the man's usually clear blue eyes. It was despair, an expression he had only seen a handful of times before, and he unconsciously steeled himself because whatever had happened must've been bad. Really bad.

"Rachel... Charlie... they were in an accident today,"

Steve almost lost his own balance. "What?"

"They're fine. I just..." Whatever he wanted to say next, he never managed to. His head started spinning like he was watching the world from a merry-go-round and his stomach began to heave.

He lost time after that, surfacing only a while later when Steve put a hand on his shoulder and told him they were home.

While Danny's brain tried to catch up and figure out where his partner had taken him, Steve got him out of the truck and lugged him up the front steps to his house. Once inside, he steered them towards the couch where the blond promptly collapsed with an exhausted sigh.

"I'm gonna take your shoes off, okay?" Steve said as he sat on the coffee table and reached down to start removing his loafers.

Danny groaned, reluctantly forcing himself back into a sitting position.

"No, no, you don't need to—" he tried to stop him but the other man was already leaning forward, resting his forehead on Steve's shoulder and relaxing his entire body against his friend's.

"You smell good," Danny whispered, nestling into the crook of his neck. "And you're so warm…"

Steve stilled for a moment, not sure how to respond. While Danny was all about human contact and physical touch, this was a kind of intimacy they'd never experienced. "You're drunk," he eventually replied, dismissing the statement as he finished his task. "Lay down, buddy, I'm gonna get you something for your headache."

Heart thumping in his chest, he went to the kitchen to grab some Ibuprofen, one of his sport drinks to replace the salt and potassium Danny had lost and crackers to boost his blood sugar and settle his stomach. Pushing the awkward moment to the back of his mind, he started thinking about the accident Rachel and Charlie had gotten into.

The urge to learn as many details as possible was strong, but the fact that Danny was there with him and not on a plane to the mainland partially reassured him that the kid was actually okay and that the whole thing —so soon after Grace's brush with death— had just scared his friend and reopened old wounds.

His own fears allayed, he went back to the living room and crouched down in front of his partner who was sprawled miserably on the couch just as he'd left him, one arm draped over his eyes.

"Danny... here, take this. It's gonna help with the headache."

Making a sound between a whimper and a groan, Danny levered himself on an elbow and accepted the pills, popping them into his mouth and chasing them down with a sip of the tasteless liquid.

"Drink some more," Steve urged.

"Don't like it."

"Come on, a couple more sips. It's for your own good." As his friend reluctantly complied, he helped him sit up and offered him the crackers. "Eat some of these too. They're good for your stomach."

Sitting up, Danny put his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. "Just shoot me, will you?" he said, his voice muffled and full of fatigue.

"Don't tempt me," Steve replied, but the look in his eyes said that he'd rather kill himself than see him suffer like that. Once he was satisfied that Danny had downed enough food and liquids to really feel better, he placed the drink and the plate with the crackers on the coffee table and headed to the guest bedroom to grab a blanket.

"Get some rest," he whispered as he draped it over the other man's huddled form. "I'll be right here if you need me."

Danny moaned and muttered something that sounded like a thank you.

With an equally weary sigh, Steve lowered himself onto the recliner. It had been a long, exhausting day, and the events of it were catching up with him. With a vengeance. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing his sore muscles to relax.

With some luck, Danny would sleep through the night and they'd both feel better in the morning.

"What're you doin'?"

_Okay, maybe he wasn't ready to sleep just yet_.

"What you mean, Danny?"

"Go sleep in your bed, Steve. 'm fine."

"So am I. Get some rest."

"Stubborn putz," Danny croaked, and Steve's lips curved into a smile.

Silence fell over the room, thick and heavy, seeping into their every pore. Steve embraced it, needing it to smooth out the roughness of his day. To Danny, on the other hand, it felt like a gaping void, a hole that needed to be filled with sounds, words… anything before it swallowed him whole.

"I wasn't there," he said before he even realized it.

Steve opened his eyes and sat up straight. "What'd you say?"

"I wasn't there for them. I wasn't there for my son, and it's killing me..." His voice was unexpectedly clear, his thoughts coherent.

Heart breaking into a thousand pieces, the former SEAL got up and moved over towards the couch, sitting down once again on the coffee table in front of him and leaning forward so that he was almost at eye level. "Danny, no... this is not... you shouldn't think like that."

There was concern in his words, worry marking his was something Danny loved about him —how deeply Steve felt for the people he cared for. Shaking his head, he reached up to touch the bruise on his partner's cheek. "I wasn't there for you."

"When?" Steve frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Today. The drug bust. You went by yourself and... you could've died. That's why I ran away. On top of Charlie... it was too much to handle."

"Danny, you know I can take care of myself. You don't need to worry about me."

"I don't want you to die, Steve," the blond detective whispered hoarsely."I don't want anyone else to die..." His gaze zeroed in on Steve with a focus so sharp that it almost startled him. "You're my partner. You shouldn't… don't go where I can't follow."

Steve's breath hitched. Whether the importance of what he'd just said had registered with his friend's brain or not the words were so genuine, so heartfelt, that a lump rose in his throat and he felt tears sting the backs of his eyelids.

"I'll do my best," he promised, struggling to control his own emotions.

Danny nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and closed his eyes. Steve just sat there watching, his heart overflowing with gratitude and tenderness for having someone like him in his life.

* * *

The next morning, Danny woke up lying on his stomach, one arm hanging next to the couch.

A particularly vivid nightmare about a car chase ending in a crash shook him abruptly back to reality and he gasped, turning on his back and struggling to breathe.

He had been inside the Camaro, Steve driving as usual, when an SUV —driven by none other than his ex-wife— had cut them off. After the collision, he had watched himself stagger out of the vehicle only to realize in horror that his partner and both his kids, who were sitting in the back of Rachel's car, had died on impact.

The overwhelming despair at the thought that he'd lost all his family at once had cut the air off from his lungs and quickened his heartbeat to dangerous levels until he figured out that it wasn't real.

Trying to slow down his breathing, he opened his eyes to a blurry ceiling and, for a second, wondered where he was. He had no recollection of anything other than the very realistic images of his dream so he scrubbed his hands over his face and tried again.

Steve's living room came into view, and he realized he was laying on his couch. How he got there, how long he had been asleep, he didn't know.

All he was aware of was the pounding in his head, the taste of vomit in his mouth and the way his stomach lurched and gurgled.

Letting out an anguished moan, he pulled back the blanket his friend had graciously covered him with and rolled off the sofa, swinging his bare feet to the cold carpet. His muscles felt weak, just like his energy, and it took him several moments to decide he was ready to stand up.

He could hear rustling sounds coming from the kitchen, along with the aroma of fresh coffee wafting in the air. It tingled his senses, prompting him to move despite the nausea validating in a not-so-subtle way that whatever he'd done the night before had been a stupid mistake. The room started to sway as he pushed himself off the couch, black dots appearing in front of his eyes. He blinked repeatedly to chase them away, wondering what the hell had happened to turn him into an achy, amnesic mess.

Walking on unsteady legs that threatened to give way any second, he made his way to the kitchen in slow, cautious steps. The brightness of the room made his headache spike and he raised one arm to shield his eyes. The two-second distraction caused him to falter and lose his precarious balance, and he ended up colliding with the fridge, alerting Steve of his presence.

"Fuck," Danny muttered as soon as his foot hit the hard surface.

"Good morning to you too," Steve replied. He was standing by the counter, stirring something into a bowl and looking as tired as his friend felt after keeping vigil all night, foregoing his own sleep for Danny's well-being. "How are you feeling?"

"Like there's a herd of elephants dancing in my head," he groaned. His throat felt like sandpaper, his words barely able to make it past his dry, sticky lips. "What time is it?"

"11:13."

Danny's eyes widened. "Eleven? Shouldn't you... we, be at work?"

"It's Saturday," Steve shrugged. "And Junior took Eddie to the Wa'ahila Ridge Trail. We've got no plans."

Nodding as if his brain wasn't still struggling to recover from the previous night's abuse, Danny dragged his heavy limbs towards the sink, bracing himself against the counter and closing his eyes when the room started to spin again at the movement. "I stand corrected. It feels like an axe is planted in my skull." He bowed his head, waiting for it to pass, then reached for one of the mugs in the drying rack. "Please tell me you didn't drink all the coffee..."

"What do you think?" Steve smirked. "Here, try this first," he said, handing him the bowl with the mix he'd been stirring.

"What the hell is that?" Danny asked, suspiciously eyeing the brownish concoction inside.

"Ginger, brown sugar and tangerine extract. It improves hangover symptoms like nausea and vomiting."

_Hangover?_

That explained his aching muscles, the headache and the waves of nausea adding to his misery. Pursing his lips together, Danny accepted the bowl and just held it in his hand, staring at it for the longest time. "I got drunk?" he asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"What do you remember?"

"Uh... not much," he admitted. The pounding in his head was making it difficult to process thoughts and string sentences together.

Steve nodded. It was probably for the better. He was positive his friend wouldn't want to relive drinking himself into stupor and puking all over his bathroom. He sure wanted to erase those images himself.

"The accident..." the blond detective whispered, feeling a stab of pain in his chest as a memory flashed in his mind.

"Charlie's okay," Steve immediately reassured him. He had double-checked that, calling Rachel as soon as he'd gotten up. "They're coming back tonight."

Danny turned around to rest his back against the counter. "Good..." Shooting Steve's homemade remedy another dirty look he finally gave it a try, immediately scrunching up his face at the peculiar taste but downing it all anyway under his partner's watchful eyes.

"This is the most disgusting thing I've ever had and trust me, I've had plenty since I landed on this island..."

"Maybe, but it will make you feel better."

"What happened last night, Steve? I need to remember..."

He pushed himself off the counter, swaying slightly, and blindly reached out a hand as everything around him started to swirl. Steve grabbed it with one of his own, warm and solid, and rested the other on Danny's back to steady him.

"You alright?" he asked, a deep frown on his face as he watched him turn a couple of shades paler.

Danny stilled and closed his eyes, breathing through his nose to will the nausea away.

"I'm fine," he replied after a second. "See, that's why I don't drink anymore. I used to go out and get hammered every night and I'd bounce right back up the next day. Now I can barely handle a hangover..."

Steve was still studying him closely, sizing him up to assess just how bad he was feeling despite his words. Wrapping his arm around Danny's shoulders, he steered him out of the kitchen an into the living room.

"Come on, let's go sit on the couch."

Once they were both seated and he was comfortable that his friend was relatively alert and able to carry out a conversation, he took a deep breath and started to talk.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Danny's brow creased as he tried to retrieve at least part of his forgotten memories.

"The drug bust. You leaping off a roof." He emphasized the action with a wave of the hand while simultaneously shaking his head to reiterate what a colossally stupid choice it had been. It didn't help his nausea at all but he was willing to sacrifice for the cause. "I felt like I couldn't breathe... Then I went home, and it started all over again. The rest is all fuzzy…"

Steve's own stomach twisted at his partner's words. He was familiar with that kind of pain, the one that knifed through his chest and made his heart spike like a jackhammer against his rib cage. He had been on the receiving hand of it too many times.

"I found you in a joint on Waiʻalae. Bartender saw you on the news and called us. You were pretty wasted when I got there."

If it was another time and his head wasn't throbbing, Danny would've asked why his face was on TV, but right now he had more pressing issues to care about.

"I, uh... I don't know how I got there."

"Your car is still in your driveway and you had no wallet so you probably walked."

Danny blinked in surprise. It all made no sense to him. He wasn't the kind of man who drank his sorrows away, hoping to find answers at the bottom of a glass. He faced them straight up, Jersey-style. What he was hearing sounded so unlike him he didn't know what to think.

Feeling raw and vulnerable like never before he turned to look at Steve, who reached out without saying a word and put a hand on his thigh, brushing his thumb back and forth over the fabric of Danny's pants.

He looked tired, and Danny wondered if he had slept at all. The man always put everyone's needs before his own and as more memories started to come back, he felt certain he owed his friend at least one apology. Or ten.

"I can't believe I ran away from my job to get drunk..." he whispered as he leaned forward, head hanging, eyes cast down in shame.

"Why?" Steve asked, giving his friend's thigh a reassuring squeeze. "I mean, you've complained about me being reckless for years, the kids have been hurt before... What was different this time?"

Danny's mouth opened and closed a few times as if he wanted to say something but either couldn't find the words or they were stuck in his head and he couldn't let them out. He looked up and searched his partner's gaze, holding it as he spoke. "I don't know, Steve. I mean yeah, I worry, but I've never felt this sick before..." His fingers reached out and curled around Steve's wrist, bringing him closer. "I can't lose you. Grace, Charlie... they're my family. _You_ are my family. I can't lose any of you."

Steve felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and it was his turn now to stare with his lips parted, struck by the weight of it all. "I... I'm sorry," he stammered when he finally found his voice. "I know I scare you sometimes, but Danny..."

"I know. I know you can't promise me that, but I don't want to feel like this ever again..." After a decade, Danny had come to the conclusion that Steve wasn't as reckless as he wanted everyone to believe. He just put everyone else above himself. The thought didn't help him sleep at night but had led to some enlightening revelations. "We deserve to be happy, Steve. We've been through hell and back and it's time, it's about damn time we get a bit selfish and focus on who we really care about. Life's too short. I'm not saying don't do what you love. You can still save the world, just remember there's people counting on you to get home safe every night."

Not trusting his words, the shaky hands he was doing his best to hide or his traitorously wet eyes, Steve stood perfectly still, only allowing the slightest nod to reassure his friend that he understood. He'd never had that, a reason to come home at night, to stop him from leaping off roofs. Not once during his solitary life until he had met Danny, who cared enough to turn to alcohol to deal with his selfish stunts.

Who cared about him as much as he cared about his own blood.

Reading him like an open book even on a hangover, Danny noticed the pursed lips and the lost, deer-in-the-headlights gaze. He stared at him with a fond expression on his face, his head slightly cocked. Steve still wasn't used to people caring about him, still didn't believe he deserved the attention. It had taken years for him to even consider the possibility, and he would probably never believe it entirely.

What he had also learned over the years was that to shake his friend out of his daze when he got overwhelmed with feelings was to change the subject.

So he did.

"Did I do anything inappropriate?"

Steve felt some of the tension bleed out of him and smiled, looking down and scratching the back of his neck.

"What's that smirk for?"

"Nothing," he added, sagging back into the couch. "You were your usual cranky self, just ten times worse. Oh, and by the way, you owe me 75 dollars."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"I paid your tab."

"That's— I did _not_ spend 75 dollars on booze!"

"Sorry to disappoint you, pal, but you did. Good whiskey's not cheap."

Danny groaned, covering his face with his hands and wondering what else he had missed.

"Feeling any better?" Steve asked.

"A bit, yeah. Your disgusting concoction's doing the job."

The former SEAL nodded, happy with the news. "I can make you tea, or something to—"

"Enough with the tending, Nurse Betty. I'll be alright. We just need to get some sleep."

"It's 11:30 in the morning."

"So?" Danny shrugged. "You said we had no plans. I just made one."

Steve stood up. "That's not— okay, here's another one: you take my bed, get some rest, and I'll go for a swim."

"Nonsense. Swimming will _not_ get you ready for tonight."

"Tonight?" Eyebrows furrowed, Steve tried to remember if there was a previous commitment he'd forgotten about.

"Yes, tonight," Danny replied in a _'come on, you shmuck'_ tone. "Charlie's coming home, and not only has he been inside a flying vehicle, which apparently ranks as the coolest experience ever, but Rachel took him to the zoo so he's gonna have lots of energy and plenty to say and we won't be able to keep up with him if we're dead on our feet."

He watched as realization dawned on his best friend's face and his serious expression broke into a grin.

"You know what he told me? He said the accident didn't scare him because you told him he's the bravest kid you know." Deliberately pausing so that Steve could grasp the meaning behind his words, Danny allowed a few moments to pass before speaking again. "For some weird reason my son loves you, Steven, so here's what's gonna happen: I'm gonna take a nap right here on this nice, comfy couch and you go lay down in your bed for a while so we can brave the storm later when it hits, alright?"

Smile still plastered on his face, Steve couldn't think of a better way to spend his evening.

"Alright, Danno," he nodded, heading towards the stairs. "See you in a few hours."

THE END


	10. A Reason to Fight

**A Reason to Fight**

* * *

A/N: This is a story I was asked to write, and that I'm posting as a gift to the person who reached out to me with the idea hoping that she likes it. I have to admit it wasn't easy to write, but I've been encouraged by my wonderful beta and a few other good friends to keep going. It took longer than I expected, but I managed to finish it.

FYI— I do have a tendency to hurt my characters but if there was something really, really bad happening in the story (e.g. death) I would totally warn you about it. If you don't see a warning, no one's dying. ;)

Please allow some poetic license. This is a work of fiction, after all. And let me know what you think. I enjoy reading comments very, very much.

Prompt is at the end so it won't spoil the story.

* * *

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, _

_while loving someone deeply gives you courage._

— _Lao Tzu_

* * *

"Uncle Steve?"

The young, familiar voice filtered through the haze of Steve's consciousness.

_Charlie._

He stirred, instinctively trying to turn his head towards the sound. Blood was roaring in his ears, muffling every other noise around him as if he was listening to them from under water, and a numbing cold had enveloped his limbs.

"Uncle Steve?"

There it was again. This time, he heard the fear in the kid's tone. A raw, unmistakable fear that sent a shiver down his spine.

His eyelids fluttered as he willed himself to full consciousness and felt a small hand on his shoulder.

"Please..." Charlie shook him. "I can't wake Grace up!"

_Grace_?

His body jerked, becoming aware all of a sudden, and his world exploded with pain. For several moments, he had no idea what had happened or where he was. No idea of anything except the breath-stealing agony enveloping his being.

Clenching his teeth to keep from crying out, he pushed everything that wasn't Danny's kids to the back of his mind and opened his eyes.

Blurry shapes danced around his vision as his mind tried to grab onto a thought, any thought, while they kept floating out of reach.

With great effort, he turned his head slightly to the right and managed to focus on the kid's face.

"Ch-Charlie?"

The boy had a death grip on his shirt sleeve and was tugging at it with all his might. "Uncle Steve, something's wrong with Grace!"

Steve's heart seized.

Something was very wrong indeed.

It took him a few more heartbeats to figure out where they were and why he was hurting all over. When he did, he almost wished he hadn't remembered.

* * *

_They were late._

_His partner was going to kill him._

_It was Danny's Saturday with the kids, but he'd woken up to a broken fridge and three days' worth of food gone bad so Steve had offered to take Grace and Charlie to breakfast while he either tried to fix that or went to buy a new one. _

_Knowing how much he enjoyed their company and the fact that it was probably the last opportunity for the three of them to spend time together before Grace started college, Danny had immediately agreed._

"_Couple of hours should be enough. Thanks, man."_

"_Don't mention it," Steve had replied casually as if he wasn't beaming at the thought of hanging out with them. "I was in the mood for pancakes anyway. I'll bring them back in time for the beach." _

_That was the plan for the day: sun, surf, and quality time with his family. _

_They should have known it was too perfect to become true._

_Breakfast had turned into one of the best hour of Steve's life. They'd eaten chocolate chips and blueberry pancakes, laughed about everything and nothing, and then moved to a nearby playground to kill some more time. While Charlie burned off some energy, he and Grace had talked, a heart-to-heart conversation about college and fears and growing up in a loving family versus being neglected by workaholic, emotionally stunted parents. _

_It had always surprised him how easy it was to speak to her, how natural it felt even for someone like him who didn't like to express his feelings. Danny's son was a special little boy, but he'd known Grace since she was six. The bond he shared with her was deep and had remained strong even through her moody, teenage years._

_Her going away to college in a few weeks was something he dreaded and looked forward to at the same time. _

_Before he knew it, it was time to head back. He texted Danny to let him know they were on their way and they all climbed into the Silverado. Grace was in charge of the music, and immediately hooked her phone to the truck's USB plug to play her favorite songs. Steve and Charlie just pretended to know the words and sang along, much to the young girl's playful dismay._

_They were fake-rapping to a hip hop tune and about to cross an intersection when he saw it._

_A semi-truck, barreling towards them at high speed. _

_From the way it was swerving, Steve could tell the driver had lost control of it. Startled, he realized in horror that there wasn't anything he could do to avoid it. Braking, accelerating… nothing would help. It was going to strike them. In a last effort to avoid the collision or at least take the brunt of it so that the kids wouldn't be harmed he steered to the right, shouting out a warning to them to cover their heads and hold on tight. _

_As the semi slammed into the side of Steve's truck his body was flung forward, then back and sideways as the airbags exploded. He heard the violent, deafening bang of metal, the crush of glass as the windows shattered and the crackle of his own bones. _

_But the sound he would never forget for as long as he lived was Grace's terrified scream when the Silverado's wheels rose up. The seatbelt tugged on his skin while the vehicle bounced, then rolled, flipping once before coming to a stop on the side of the road, leaving a trail of metal and glass._

_Steve blinked through glazed, pain-filled eyes. The cacophony of noises from a few moments before had been replaced by silence. Through his blurred vision, he saw steam rise from the front of the truck, and an acrid smell invaded his nostrils. _

_Then everything faded to black._

* * *

"Gracie?"

Instantly alert though far from being lucid Steve tried to move, only to realize he was pinned by the crushed metal that had once been the door and the front of his vehicle.

A strong, pulsating pain originating from his abdomen seemed to control his every action and thoughts, and yet he tried to free himself anyway, struggling to take his seatbelt off to help Grace. The futility of it immediately slapped him in the face, leaving him weak and gasping for breath.

How long had he sat there, drifting in and out of consciousness, wasting precious time he could've used to get them out?

Ignoring the voice in his head calling him a failure and the taste of blood in his mouth, he took a measured breath and reached out one hand to check her pulse.

He was _not_ going to fail Danny's kids.

He was _not_ going to fail his partner and best friend, who had trusted him with the most precious things in his life.

The strong beat under his fingertips was the best sound he had ever heard and he exhaled slowly through his nose, wincing at the sharp, knife-like ache spreading through his body.

"Grace, can you hear me?"

The position he was trapped in didn't allow him to properly assess her condition, but the girl didn't seem to be hurt badly. With some luck, she had just passed out from the shock of the collision.

Keeping his hand on Grace's shoulder as reassurance to both, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Despite being crooked, it allowed him to get a glimpse of Charlie in the backseat.

"Hey, Charlie…", he said, trying to keep his tone light and his expression calm. "You alright, buddy?"

There were tear tracks down his cheeks, and the tightness in Steve's chest increased tenfold.

The boy gave him a solemn look, as if studying him to make sure he was okay and listening.

"What's wrong with Grace?" he asked, glancing at his unconscious sister.

Steve swallowed hard. "Gracie's asleep, but she's gonna be fine." His hand slid down the girl's arm to her wrist and he felt for a pulse again. It was still strong. Closing his eyes, he said a silent thank you to whoever had spared them from harm.

"You were both asleep after the truck hit us. I… I got scared…" Charlie admitted in a low voice.

The words tore at Steve's heart and for a moment, breathing became even harder than it already was. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you but you woke me up, right? You did good."

The boy nodded and leaned forward, his face mere inches from his uncle's. "You're bleeding."

Steve instinctively moved to try and stop him. The pain in his abdomen flared, and he barely suppressed a groan. "S-stay... still, Charlie, you gotta stay still..." Although the kid seemed alert and unharmed, he knew there was always the possibility of an internal injury and didn't want to risk worsening it. He would never forgive himself if that happened. "I'm fine, little man, don't worry about me," he lied as he watched him sit back in his booster seat, hands in his lap. "How about you, you hurt?"

"I scraped my arm and knees."

"I'm sorry about that," he said, unable to hide the relief at the boy's words. "As soon as we get out of here we're gonna have somebody take a look at it, alright?"

Charlie nodded, looking at him with Danny's wide, inquisitive eyes and making Steve feel helpless and vulnerable like never before. He tried to estimate how much time had passed, wondering how long it would take for help to get there. The semi was sitting on his left, its big frame shadowing the Silverado and blocking Steve's view of the road. He wondered what had happened to the driver, if he was hurt or unable to call for help just like he was. The fact that no one had come to check on them strongly suggested that.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the headrest.

The back road off Kalaniana'ole he had chosen to save some time was a route he'd taken a hundred times before. On weekends, it allowed locals to bypass the ever-trafficked highway and the herd of tourists headed to the beach. Today, as he sat pinned to his seat trying to take stock of injuries he already knew would barely give him a fighting chance, being slowed down to a crawl and singing along to Grace's favorite songs sounded instead like a missed opportunity.

* * *

"Uncle Steve?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm cold."

This time, it was Grace's voice that drew him out of his dark thoughts. She had woken up with a start, disoriented and moaning about a throbbing pain in her leg, and the feeling of helplessness Steve had experienced earlier had come back with a vengeance.

He had never felt like that in his whole life, not even when he'd had to listen to his father being murdered over the phone. These were kids – _Danny's kids_, trapped in a steel prison.

"I know, Gracie. Just hold on, okay? They're gonna be here soon."

He turned his head, facing away from her. A lonely tear trickled down his cheek, and he angrily wiped it away.

Grace never complained. She was strong and brave like her father. Witnessing her pain was breaking Steve's heart. He remembered those long hours at the hospital, waiting for news after the car accident she'd been involved in months before, Danny's face crumpling in grief at the thought that his precious girl could be brain damaged or worse, dead.

And now, thanks to his negligence, it was happening all over again.

Pain rippled through his bruised ribs as he coughed and he fought to catch his breath, unconsciously rubbing the spot where the steering wheel had impacted with his chest. He wished for the umpteenth time that he could move, get them out of the tangled mess that had once been his vehicle, whose front and left side was mangled so badly he couldn't tell where the metal ended and his body began.

If he was going to die in here, he wished he could at least know the kids were safe before it happened.

* * *

Steve didn't know it, but the reason it was taking so long for help to get there was that, to normal passerby's, the scene of the accident barely looked like one.

The semi had stopped on the side of the road, perfectly aligned as if the driver had parked it to go for breakfast or take a leak, completely hiding the Silverado from view. The brake marks and the glass littering the asphalt, along with the damage visible to the truck's front were the only telltale signs of a collision and still, one could barely tell there was another vehicle involved.

Cars passed them by, oblivious to the drama unfolding just out of their reach and sight, speeding along a route that had seen all sorts of crashes and hit-and-runs over the years.

It would take a little more time and a desperate father to finally realized where they were.

* * *

The sound of his cell phone ringing broke the silence that had fallen inside the wrecked Silverado.

Steve looked around, trying to locate the device, almost positive it was Danny calling to see where they were.

What was he going to say to him?

When the first recon of his surroundings proved to be fruitless, he used his hand to feel the area around his lap, hissing in pain as it connected with his tender abdomen by mistake. Whatever was going on down there, whatever trauma he had suffered from the impact, it wasn't anything good.

Choosing not to dwell on it because his priority was getting Danny's kids to safety, he focused on finding his phone again. The damn thing must've been flung off the dashboard during the impact and was probably somewhere at the bottom of the truck, completely out of reach.

To his dismay, the ringing stopped a few moments later and he sighed in frustration at his inability to answer the call that could've gotten them help.

Stealing a sideway glance at Grace, he saw that she was conscious but silent. Even Charlie, as if sensing the gravity of the situation, was staring out the damaged window, lost in thought.

He needed to do something, engage them somehow so they would forget about their current situation, even for a little while.

The coppery taste in his mouth and the worsening feeling of knives plunging into his chest every time he breathed made speaking more and more difficult, but Steve swallowed the blood down and did it anyway. He even managed to make Charlie smile, which in his book counted as a pretty good win.

Trying to take their minds off the accident, he talked to them about snorkeling in Sharks' Cove, about plans of picnics and hikes to his favorite places on the island, and all the things he wanted to do with them when Grace came back from college for the holidays.

If he lived long enough to do that anyway.

They were planning the next breakfast outing when they heard the sound of another cell phone ringing.

"That's Danno's ringtone!" Charlie exclaimed in excitement.

Steve's hopes soared up.

"Gracie, where's your phone?" he asked, hoping that her teenage habit of always keeping it handy would work in their favor.

She looked lost for a second, then lowered her gaze to her lap. "I don't… it's here," she said, raising her arm and showing the phone safely clutched in her hand. Reinvigorated by the thought of her father calling, she straightened in her seat and put the device to her ear.

"Danno…"

Steve could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was clear from Grace's words and reactions that the news had shocked him.

Then Danny asked her to put him on speaker.

He stayed on the phone with them as he rushed to the accident site, speaking words of encouragement and reassurance and urging them to hold on until help arrived.

Partially relieved that they were finally going to get rescued, Steve leaned his head back and closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions that the phone conversation with his partner had stirred.

Just one minute, he promised, to get himself together.

* * *

The next time he opened them, there was a blurry figure looming over him.

Dark clothes, large hat, the man was standing by the broken window and trying to get his attention.

"Commander McGarrett, can you hear me?"

Steve blinked, and a strangled "yeah" escaped his parched, blood-smeared lips. As his focus sharpened, he realized it was a firefighter. The face was familiar, though he couldn't recall his name.

Captain. Was he a Captain?

"The kids… get the kids…" he croaked.

The Captain nodded. "We're working on that." A veteran to the corps, he took one look at the wreckage and immediately signaled his men to approach so they could secure the scene and figure out a way to pull everybody out.

There was no time to waste.

Through glazed eyes, Steve looked at Charlie in the rearview mirror. "Help's here, buddy. Remember what we talked about? Just do what the firefighters say and you'll be out of here in no time."

"Are you coming with us?" the boy asked as he watched the truck being surrounded by emergency workers.

"Uhm… not yet. They need to get you guys out first and then they'll come for me."

"Then I'll wait," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Charlie, no…"

"I don't want to leave you alone, Uncle Steve!"

Tears filled Steve's eyes at the kid's words. He had never taken their love for granted, so every time they showed him that they cared it awed and surprised him as if he wasn't worth it. "It's alright, Charlie-boy. I'll let you in on a little secret, alright? Knowing that you're safe is going to make me feel much, much better, so let them help you and I'll be with you guys soon."

"Charlie, we can't stay in here. Uncle Steve is right," Grace chimed in, sounding more alert than she had been since she'd woken up. As much as it pained her to leave him behind, she knew it had to be done. "They can't help him if they don't get us out."

That seemed to get through to the boy and he finally nodded in acceptance.

Steve gave her a grateful look, then nodded at the Captain who immediately started to relay orders to his team.

"Alright, we'll get the boy first and then cut the passenger door to reach the girl. Come on, people, let's go!"

"Charlie!"

Danny's voice suddenly cut through the noise surrounding the scene.

A heartbeat later he was there, standing outside the mangled vehicle, his gaze dashing frantically between the three most important people in his life.

"He alright?" he asked the firefighter that had just gotten him out. "Huh? He alright?"

"Yes," the man nodded. "A few scrapes and bruises but he's fine."

"Thank God," Danny muttered, immediately taking the boy into his arms. "What about my daughter? Grace, you alright?"

When she didn't respond, he forced his way through the emergency workers, desperate to reach her. "Grace!"

His heart was hammering into his chest, the flashbacks of her previous accident hindering his ability to focus.

Not again.

_Please_ _not again_.

"I'm okay, Danno," she said in a soft voice.

Tightening his grip on Charlie, he jerked out of the arms that tried to hold him back and leaned in through the window. "I'm here, Monkey. It's gonna be alright," he promised, brushing the back of his fingers down the girl's cheek.

"Detective Williams, you need to step back," the Captain ordered.

"I'm not leaving my daughter."

The older man pointed to the crushed Silverado and the two people still inside of it. "We need to get them out. Right now." His tone was urgent, his face serious.

Reigning in his emotions Danny moved aside, unconsciously starting to rub his son's back as he watched the firefighters work to cut Grace out.

"Is Grace gonna be okay?" Charlie asked, burrowing his face into his father's neck.

"Is she gonna be okay? Of course she is. You're all gonna be okay..."

He glanced at Steve as he spoke. His partner's gaze was focused on the rescue, watching every move with his patented thousand-yard stare while holding Grace's hand in a reassuring gesture.

Danny's heart swelled with love.

From where he was standing he couldn't get a good view of him, but there was no mistaking the pain lining Steve's face. The truck was badly damaged, its front barely recognizable. It could've ended much, much worse than it had.

Running a hand over his face, he reluctantly took another step backwards.

As much as he wanted to help, all he could do was wait.

* * *

It took over ten minutes to carefully cut Grace out of the wreckage.

Ten excruciatingly long minutes that felt like an eternity to both men.

When they finally extracted her from the vehicle and loaded her onto a stretcher, Danny reached for the same hand Steve had held the whole time, whispering a litany of reassurances that he hoped didn't sound as hollow as they felt.

Grace's left leg was broken, that much he could tell even if he wasn't a medic. Other than that, she was sporting a few bruises from where the airbag and seatbelt had impacted with her skin but thankfully, nothing life threatening.

He glanced at Steve, noticing the way he seemed to struggle to draw air into his lungs, and they shared a long look.

Danny apologized for having to leave him to go after his daughter.

Steve nodded to tell him that it was alright, and that he knew his kids came first. "I love you, guys," he breathed out as he watched them being escorted away from the truck, hoping it wouldn't be the last time he saw them.

The paramedics started an IV and loaded Grace into the ambulance, their moves quick and efficient. Danny sat Charlie down in the bench across from his sister's gurney to call Rachel, his free hand curling around the girl's uninjured foot, the only part he could touch from where he was standing.

He saw the Captain walk past them as he scrolled down the 'recent calls' list and nodded at him. "Thank you," he said, his voice full of gratitude.

"Thank your partner," the other man replied. "Judging from the tire marks, the semi was gonna hit them head-on. If he hadn't steered to the side, we would've pulled out three bodies today."

Danny's eyes widened at the revelation. Not because it surprised him that Steve had put the safety of his children before his own, but because the impact of what he had done and the realization of how things could have ended hit him like a ton of bricks.

He could've lost them all today.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Then his shaky hand rose and he put the device to his ear, dreading the phone call he was about to make.

A few feet away, inside the Silverado, Steve's awareness flickered.

Finally alone, and satisfied that the kids were safe, he slumped in his seat with a moan of distress, screwing his face up into a pasty-white mask of agony as he finally acknowledged the pain he'd been ignoring the whole time.

The mission was over.

He had done what was needed.

There was a wheezing sound coming from his lungs every time he breathed, and he felt like the whole truck was sitting on his chest. His neck hurt, as did his back, and when he ran his hand over the area around his abdomen where the pain was worse it came away red and sticky with blood.

A paramedic materialized to his left just as he was adding broken bones and a concussion to the list of injuries, urging him to open his eyes while he put a c-collar on him and placed an oxygen mask over his face.

Steve wanted to.

He really did.

Then the EMT moved him slightly forward to strap the neck brace on.

And consciousness slipped away.

* * *

"Hey! I need some help over here, he's crashing!"

The frantic call coming from the scene he had just left made Danny's blood run cold.

He turned around, staring with increasing panic as two more rescuers came to assist the paramedic that was working on Steve.

_No. No no no._

Dropping the phone back into his pocket, he took a tentative step towards the Silverado and then stopped to glance at his kids in the back of the ambulance. Torn between the desire to ride with them to the hospital and the urge to make sure his partner was okay he stood there, rooted to the spot and unable to choose.

Fate spared him the decision when the same voice spoke again a few moments later.

"Captain, we need to get him out of there or he's not gonna make it!"

He couldn't go.

He couldn't leave Steve.

As he ran a hand over his face, trying to find the right words to explain to Grace and Charlie why he was staying behind, he spotted Tani and Junior running towards him. "Thank god," he murmured again, breathing in relief at the sight of his coworkers.

"Sir, I heard it on the scanner. How bad is it?" Junior asked, already examining the scene to figure out how he could help.

Tani curled her hand around Danny's bicep, face drawn tight with worry. "What can we do?"

"Steve... I gotta check on Steve..." he replied, staring at the wreckage. "I need you to go to the hospital, make sure my kids are okay."

"Of course, whatever you need."

Sliding one arm around her back in an attempt to draw strength from the physical contact, he guided them both to the ambulance to inform the paramedics tending to his daughter that Tani was going to ride with them in his place.

He kissed the top of Charlie's head, grateful beyond words that the boy was sitting there in front of him with an innocent, oblivious smile on his face. "Mom will meet you at the hospital, alright? I, uh... I gotta go."

There was regret in his voice, and as he turned to check on Grace he hoped she'd understand it was the right thing to do.

Ever the perceptive one, the girl levered herself on one elbow despite her discomfort and sat up, sharing the same worry that was constricting her father's lungs. Their eyes met, and she nodded in understanding. "Go... make sure uncle Steve's alright."

Danny swallowed hard, feeling tears prickle at his eyes. "I love you, Monkey. Everything's gonna be alright," he promised before mouthing a 'thank you' to his younger teammate and rushing to Steve's side.

The first thing he became aware of, the one thing his brain had chosen to ignore to focus on his children, was how badly damaged the truck really was. And right after that, when his eyes landed on Steve, how serious his condition looked.

"Steve? Hey, let me through! Steve!"

Strong-arming the firefighters who attempted to stop him, Danny made his way to the driver's side of the Silverado just as his partner's glazed-over eyes blinked open. The paramedic that had made the frantic call was busy putting the drum of his stethoscope to Steve's chest and barely paid him any attention.

Danny watched him listen for a few moments and then shake his head as he slung the stethoscope back around his neck. "Steve?" he called in a hesitant voice, breath catching at the sight of his battered form. "We're gonna get you out, buddy, you hear me? We're gonna get you out of there."

Steve was blinking, his unfocused eyes staring straight ahead. He didn't give any sign that he'd seen or even heard him.

The paramedic frowned and took out his penlight from one of his pockets. "Commander, can you hear me? Can you follow the light with your eyes?"

Slowly, and with extreme care as not to jostle the fire poker searing his abdomen, Steve turned his head as much as the c-collar allowed him and complied with the EMT's request.

"The kids... are the kids alright?"

The return to consciousness meant the return to awareness of his predicament but there was only one thing that mattered, one answer he was hoping to hear to make the pain ravaging his body worth it.

Danny leaned closer and ran his knuckles down Steve's cheek, watching the mask over his face cloud up as he breathed.

"They're okay, they're gonna be fine."

"…Danny?"

"I'm right here, Steve," he assured him, lowering his head to catch his eyes. "I'm right here."

What looked like the ghost of a smile appeared on Steve's lips as his best friend's face swam in and out of his vision. "N-not my fault..."

Danny nodded, his heart breaking at the thought that he would feel the need to point that out. "I know. I know, babe. You did nothing wrong."

Around them, the firefighters were getting ready to fold back the truck's roof in order to gain better access into the vehicle. One of them came over, said something to the paramedic that Danny couldn't hear and then approached him.

"Forget it," the Jersey native said, holding out one hand to stop him before he even spoke. "I'm not leaving him."

The firefighter handed him a black nylon tarp. "I figured as much. I wouldn't leave my partner either. Use this. Make sure you're both covered. It's only gonna take us a couple of minutes."

Danny accepted it, grateful for the understanding. He had learned from his father that the brotherhood firefighters shared was just as tight as the one he'd experienced in the police force. He didn't need to explain to these men how he felt because they already knew.

Something about their plan was bothering him though, something he couldn't quite grasp but didn't feel right."Hey, hey!" He called when it finally clicked, gut clenching. "What's going on? Why the roof? Why don't you cut the door to get him out?"

The man gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew. A piece of metal from the door is lodged inside his abdomen. We can't cut it out. Not until we find a way to do it without killing him."

If words could actually kill, Danny would've dropped dead right there in the middle of the accident scene. Reeling from the shock at the news of Steve's conditions, he raised a shaky hand to his mouth and stifled a cry as his eyes filled with tears.

_Impaled_.

That sounded so much worse than Danny's list of worst-case scenarios.

And yet he couldn't —wouldn't— dwell on it, or fall apart like his overwhelmed brain was threatening to.

They had a job to do.

_He_ had a job to do.

Scrubbing at his face he took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the tarp and resumed his position at his friend's side.

"Hey, buddy. The roof is gonna come out, alright? So I'm gonna put this over us for protection."

Unable to nod because of the collar and not really trusting his voice wouldn't give away the pain he was feeling, Steve blinked once to let him know he understood. A moment later, he felt a pricking sensation in his arm and recognized the soothing effect of morphine.

The paramedic gave his colleagues a thumbs up to let them know they were ready. Then he covered both partners with the tarp and reassured Danny he would be back as soon as they finished.

As the jaws of life started to cut through metal and the agony slowly began to ease, Steve met his best friend's concerned eyes under the nylon cover, twitching his lips briefly into another smile.

_It's okay_, he wanted to tell him.

_I saved them._

* * *

"This should have stitches," Danny said softly, pointing to the cut that had sliced Steve's right eyebrow.

His legs were cramping from standing in the same position too long, but he stubbornly stayed where he was, occasionally glancing around at the rescuers to keep track of their progress.

Still pinned to his seat, Steve had been drifting in and out of consciousness, no doubt courtesy of the medications running through his system. At first, Danny didn't even know where to touch him, afraid he would cause him more pain. Driven by the need to reassure and be reassured, he'd eventually placed one hand on his shoulder and, careful not to touch the mangled door, had reached the other inside the vehicle to grasp Steve's.

"It's nothing," the former SEAL muttered, closing his eyes to ride out another wave of discomfort. The morphine had helped, and he no longer felt like being stabbed every time he breathed. It came with a mind-fuzzing effect, giving him a hard time remembering details and following what was going on around him. "How are the kids?"

Danny tried not to frown at the question Steve had already asked three times.

"They're safe," he smiled. "How about you, huh? How are you doing?"

"Me? I... I'm not even sure anymore. H-hurting all over."

The admission, painful as much as it was unexpected, made a chill run down Danny's spine. He looked at the paramedic, silently urging him to do something about it.

The EMT nodded and slid inside the vehicle through the passenger side to take another round of vitals.

"Commander, I'm gonna check your abdomen, okay?"

Steve blinked yes, inhaling sharply through tightly pressed lips as soon as the man touched it.

Danny immediately squeezed his hand. "You're alright... you're alright..." Always observant, he didn't miss the head shake and the barely audible 'damn' that followed the check-up. "What's wrong?" He asked the paramedic, feeling dread already twisting his stomach.

"Blood keeps flowing out whenever I press on the wound. The metal is stopping most of it right now, but it's not gonna last long."

"Airways?" Another EMT asked, handing him a second IV bag.

"Sats are okay for now, but there's definitely blood in his chest."

"He could have a collapsed lung. Look at those bruises, must be where the steering wheel hit."

"We can't be sure until we get him out."

"When?" Danny exploded, unable to control himself any longer. "When is that going to happen? Because I've been standing here for almost an hour and nothing's happened!"

"Danny..." Steve's voice was strong despite the oxygen mask covering his face.

"No!" He held up a hand to silence him. "I need to know what their plan is, alright? I need... I need to knowwhy we're still here, listening to you guys betting on his took a step back, away from the truck,and stared at the emergency workers gathered around them. "How much longer is it gonna take? Captain? Because he, uh... he's still trapped in here with a piece of metal in his chest and... and it sounds like he doesn't have time for you to—"

"Sir?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Junior looking at him with sad, compassionate eyes.

Breathing hard like he'd run a mile, fists curled, Danny hung his head, allowing a few tears to fall. "He's... he saved my kids. Please don't let him die..."

He nodded to Junior, letting him know he was alright, turned away from the truck so Steve couldn't see him, and took a moment to collect himself while the firefighters resumed their work.

"Thanks," Steve said when he finally got back by his side, reaching out a trembling hand and curling it around Danny's wrist.

"For what?"

"Pleading my case. And... being there all these years..."

He said a lot more with his eyes after that, trusting his partner to get the message like he had done countless times in the past.

Danny got it loud and clear, so much so that his heart seized in his throat and what little composure he had regained threatened to slip away. "Don't," he shook his head. "Do_ not_ do this, alright? You're gonna be fine. You— we're gonna be fine."

Grasping the oxygen mask, Steve lowered it back down to his side. "Stop lying to me for my own good, Danno..." he whispered, triggering a bout of coughing that sprayed a fine mist of blood all over his lips and Danny's white shirt. "I love you," he added a second later, just like he had told the kids before they took them away. He was comfortable saying it now, having learned how important it was to express his feelings to the people he cared about, and he was damned if he wasn't going to say it for as long as he could.

Danny nearly broke down at those three words, doubling over as if in physical pain.

He knew what they meant.

Steve was saying goodbye.

He had closed his eyes and...

_No_.

Anger suddenly boiled inside his chest.

Steve was _not_ going to die like this. On the side of a back road, concealed from sight.

He was _not_ going to die in front of him after all they'd been through.

The son of a bitch had steered the truck and let the semi hit his side so that his kids could have a chance.

He was _not_ going to give up.

Danny wasn't going to let him.

He gripped his shoulder, ignoring the fact that he was probably hurting him, and started to shake him. "Look at me! Hey, Steve, look at me!"

When Steve didn't respond, Danny framed both hands on the sides of his face.

"McGarrett!"

There were tears running down his cheeks but he didn't care, busy as he was making sure his best friend didn't let go. "You don't get to do that, you hear me? You fight, Steven! You're not a quitter. You fight!"

"Let me check on him, Detective," the paramedic urged. "Let me do my job."

Danny reluctantly complied, stepping away from the vehicle but staying close enough to watch the man's movements like a hawk. He felt like all the air had been punched out of him, like he was stuck in a horror movie watching everyone he loved suffer and not being able to do a thing about it.

The broken fridge he had woken to that morning seemed like a distant memory, a trivial incident he'd overreacted to, and for a moment he wished he was home so he could bust the machine with his own hands. If the damn thing hadn't stopped working, Steve wouldn't have taken the kids out as a favor to him and they'd be still enjoying their Saturday together.

His dark, murderous thoughts were interrupted by Junior who approached him at a quick pace, holding his cellphone in his outstretched hand.

"They're okay," he said with a smile, slightly out of breath as if he'd been running.

Danny blinked in confusion. "What?"

"The kids. Tani texted me from the hospital. They're gonna put Grace's leg in a cast for four to six weeks but they're fine, Sir. Your ex-wife is with them."

Danny breathed in relief.

_His kids were okay._

He immediately went over to Steve, who was still unconscious despite the paramedics' efforts. "They're alright. See? They're okay," he blurted, hoping his friend would react to the news. "Grace and Charlie... they're okay, buddy. You saved them."

His face fell when Steve remained stubbornly still.

"How is he?" he asked the EMT.

"He's hanging on, barely. He needs a hospital and surgery right now or we're gonna lose him."

Hopelessness started to sneak into Danny's heart.

The odds were stacked too high. Even the rescue workers weren't giving him much chance.

He fought it, with everything he had.

This couldn't be the end.

"How can I help?" Junior cut in, addressing the firefighters that had almost freed Steve completely.

The sight of his mentor's battered body gave him flashbacks from his combat days, bringing back memories of missions gone wrong and fellow soldiers laying in the dirt, their vacant eyes staring accusingly at him. The young SEAL swallowed, pushing them away and focusing on the rescuers' voices.

"We need to get him out of there."

"I can't reach him from this angle."

"I'll get in through the other side, help you from there."

"Might work. Let's get in position."

According to his watch, McGarrett had been trapped for 47 minutes. He might have a shot if they managed to cut him out and bring him to the hospital in under an hour.

"What's the ETA on the Medevac?" he inquired.

The question earned him a few puzzled looks.

"We're eight minutes away from King's," one of the paramedics replied.

Junior resisted the urge to smack some sense into them. "He needs to go to Tripler. And with his injuries, Medevac is the best solution."

The EMTs looked at each other as if thinking it over.

"I'll take care of it," he said without giving them time to reply.

Danny nodded gratefully at his teammate's resourcefulness. He hadn't even thought of that.

He reached out and grasped his partner's hand, once again willing him to wake up, and was unexpectedly rewarded with a light squeeze.

A moment later his long, dark lashes fluttered and Steve opened his eyes.

"Hey… there you are!"

The grin that spread across Danny's face was big enough to light the whole island on a cloudy day.

"Where… H-how did I…?" Steve stammered, eyes darting around in confusion. Then realization dawned. "Oh..."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I got… h-hit by a semi..."

"Funny. That's funny. See, you making jokes? That's a good sign. You're gonna be alright, buddy."

Steve was so far from being alright he was surprised he was even talking. Must've been the morphine, he reasoned, or maybe what they called 'the surge'. He had heard about that over the years, of patients regaining strength and having a final surge of energy and brain activity, seemingly getting better before they got worse.

While he hoped that was not the case, he had made peace with dying a long time ago. And if death was the price to pay to ensure Grace and Charlie lived a long, happy life then he was okay with that.

He glanced around, recalling a vague memory of them being wheeled towards safety, then focused back on Danny.

"Why are you still here?"

The Jersey native shook his head in bewilderment. "Because there's nowhere else for me to be, you dumbass."

"The kids..."

"My kids are fine. Rachel's with them. It's you I'm worried about right now."

"Don't. Go be with your kids, Danny... You're the best father I know and they need you..."

"Detective Williams, I need you to move. We're gonna cut out the piece of metal that's impaling him."

Danny froze, his body as still as a statue.

This was it.

One way or the other, his nightmare was about to end.

Steve grasped his partner's hand, bringing him closer. "Do me a favor… Tell them I love them and that I—"

"Hey, we've been through this already, we're not doing it again!" Danny cut him off. "I'm not gonna tell my kids that their uncle saved their lives and then decided to quit. It's almost over. Just hold on a little longer, alright? Don't wanna do it for yourself, do it for them!"

_I am. _

_I am fighting._

_It's just too damn much…_

"It's going to be okay, Danno. I'm just so tired…" he admitted, voice strained from exhaustion and pain.

"I know, babe. I know."

His vision tunneled dangerously, and he knew he didn't have much time. "Whatever happens… you guys will always have each other..."

With that knowledge came acceptance.

Even if he died, Danny would still have a family.

They were going to be okay.

He tensed up in preparation and gave a slight nod to the paramedics, signaling he was ready.

A cacophony of voices instantly surrounded him.

"Cut the seatbelt loose!"

"On it!"

"We're pulling him out now."

He felt hands grabbing him, then a sharp tug and the sound of an engine as the cutters roared to life and started to bite through metal.

Pain searing through his abdomen, and the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.

"Get the backboard!"

"Take his legs, I got his back."

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

Danny's throat was tight as he watched the fire crew work in sync to get his friend out of the wreck, his cheeks wet. "Stay with me, Steve... stay with me," he whispered over and over, arms folded protectively around his chest to hide the tremors coursing through them.

"All right, we're clear!"

"We got him!"

"Let's go, people, he's still alive!"

The blades of the Medevac started to whir, their rhythmic sound reverberating all around. Danny covered his ears and held his breath until they loaded Steve into the helicopter.

The rest became a blur.

* * *

The tears came hard and fast, bursting forth like water from a dam.

Hiding inside a bathroom stall, sheltered from the prying eyes of people he didn't feel like being around, Danny covered his face with his hands let them fall.

When his knees gradually grew weak, he leaned against the wall and slowly sank down onto the floor, body virtually folding into itself as a steady stream began to flow its way down his cheeks, releasing the emotions he had managed to keep buried inside all day.

The salty drops made wet tracks down his face, dripping from his stubbled chin and drenching his shirt.

He just sat there, powerless to stop them.

A pathetic attempt to stifle the sobs that came along with those tears failed almost immediately. They punched through, loud and heavy, tearing from his throat and unwilling to back down.

The grief came in waves, only broken apart by his desperate gasps for breath, making his lips tremble and his shoulders heave until there was no more energy left.

Completely exhausted and drained to the core, Danny wearily wiped at his eyes and rose to his feet, shaky fingers reaching for the lock to open the stall's door.

Lou Grover was leaning against the wall near the entrance door as if standing guard, hands in his pockets. He gave him a knowing look born out of shared experiences, a look that held no judgement but only support.

"Watch out for them nasty ants," he said with a shrug. "They're all over the place. Least that's what I've been telling people since you got in. Figured you'd need a moment."

Danny bowed his head, trying to force a smile that refused to come out. On a regular day he would've laughed at the thought of Lou faking a bug emergency to scare off patients and relatives, but there was nothing ordinary about this day, and his only wish was to erase it from memory.

"Thanks, man..." he replied, because all in all, he did appreciate Lou running interference for him.

He walked over to the sink and turned on the cold water, bending down to splash some on his face. His hands were still shaking so he curled them around the edges, bracing himself for the moment he'd have to leave his hiding spot and face reality.

He had no idea what time it was or how long it had been since he'd run into the men's room and slammed the door behind him. All he could remember was being suddenly unable to breathe.

"Did you tell them?"

Lou's voice made him jump. For a moment, in his distressed state, he had forgotten he was even there.

"Not yet."

The thought of having to rely the news to his kids was one of the reasons he'd sought shelter inside the stall, away from everyone.

How was he supposed to tell them?

Nausea clawed at his throat, and he scooped up some water to rinse his mouth before splashing some more on his face.

"Listen, man, I just wanted to let you know that I'm here. Whatever you guys need."

Danny accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and immediately looked away, snatching a few paper towels out of the plastic dispenser on the wall as he nodded in acknowledgment. There was only one thing he needed, and he was positive Grover could do nothing about it.

The older man straightened up with a sigh. "You ready?"

"No. But I got no choice."

Mustering whatever strength he had left, Danny sucked in a deep, calming breath and headed outside.

One of the nurses passing him by noticed his red eyes and defeated posture and offered him a sad smile, assuming he had lost a spouse or a family member.

He almost had.

The man lying in a bed in one of the intensive care rooms down the hall was alive only because there were machines doing for him what his body couldn't. They had told him there was a slim chance he'd recover, that the trauma had been too extensive, which was devastating in itself even though Steve had beat odds like this more times than Danny could count.

But that wasn't all.

No.

His partner, who liked to always be prepared for whatever kind of curveball life threw at him, had signed a POLST form —a new, fancy name for the 'do not resuscitate' order— preventing medical personnel to use CPR and other invasive procedures should he stop breathing or his heart stop beating.

Danny knew exactly what that meant but had asked anyway, dumbfounded, unwilling to believe that it was even an option.

The rational side of his brain, the one who knew Steve better than the Neanderthal knew himself, tried to tell him that it made perfect sense, that his friend would have hated to be confined to a bed with tubes and wires attached to his body.

The emotional side, the one who had shared every aspect of his life with him for ten years, stubbornly refused to accept that and was already falling apart.

In the middle of it all, two scared children who kept asking about their uncle Steve and would be just as heartbroken if he died.

Grace was already pressing him for answers, demanding to see him and not buying the lame excuse they'd been feeding her about not being healthy enough to leave her bed. She was a smart girl, and Danny knew he wouldn't be able to hide the truth from her much longer.

Not today though.

Today he could barely focus.

So he sat by Steve's side, heart in his throat, staring at the red bold letters on his DNR bracelet and jumping at the slightest change on the monitors.

Praying, hoping that his best friend held on.

* * *

"_You promised me, uncle Steve. You promised everything was gonna be okay. This... is is not okay... I don't remember much about the accident but I heard Danno say you steered the truck so it wouldn't hit us. That's the bravest thing anyone has ever done for me... It must've been scary, and maybe you're scared right now and you don't know what to do so I'm gonna tell you what you told me when I was in the hospital after my car accident. You said that I had to live not only for myself but for the people who loved me. You— you're like a second father to me and I love you so much and... and you promised we were gonna do all these things together so please, please don't leave us..."_

"_Hey, man. Feel like we've done this before... You know, these doctors… they don't know what they're talking about. They don't know you like we do. I was telling Renee the other day about that time you dug that bullet out of your vest and went about your business as if nothing had happened. _

_... Now, Steve, I understand why you did it, man. I really do. But there's a couple of things you should know before you make a decision. Your boy Danny... he's a mess. I don't know how he does it, really. Get up every morning and pretend to be strong for everyone. In all the years I've known him, I don't think I've ever really seen him cry. He does that a lot now, when he thinks no one's around. This is killing him, man. And it's not just him. We're all walking around like we're missing something, so don't do this to him. To us. It's not your time."_

"_I know you can hear me, Sir— ah, Steve. You told me to tone down the 'sir' thing, but I just can't help it sometimes. I say it because I respect you and— and I look up to you. ... I can't believe it's been almost two years since I came to your door asking to work for you. The best and most incredible two years of my life. You gave me a chance. A home. Accepted me into your life when my own family didn't. I'll never be able to repay you for that. ... Eddie misses you, you know. I'm trying to take good care of him but it's not the same. He sleeps outside your bedroom door every night, and growls at me whenever I tell him to move. He really needs you to get better. And... and so do I."_

"_I spoke to Kono today. She wishes she was here, sends her love. She said you already know how much she loves you but made me promise to say it again. ... Steve, I'm not— I'm not good at this sort of thing, but... I want to say thank you. You've always had my back, man. Even when I didn't deserve it. So I came to tell you that I got yours. That whatever happens, whatever you decide, I'm here for you. For you, and for the people you love. That's what ohana is for, right?" _

"_Okay, this a bit creepy and I'm having this weird feeling of deja vu but I'll try anyway. I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to tell you besides... thank you. Because, really, that's the only thing that comes to mind, and I know I ramble when I'm nervous but this feels... it feels wrong with you laying there not able to talk back. ... You know what Danny told me my first day on the job? Well, my first unofficial day on the job when we almost died after that huge fire? I know it was you who sent him, by the way... anyway, he said you have this ability to show up in people's lives right when they need you. And it didn't make sense at first but now I understand, and it was the same for me too. I'll be forever grateful that you chose me, and I hope I can keep working with you because... because there's still a lot I need to learn from you so... get better. We're all counting on you."_

_Aloha, Steve. I hope that wherever you are right now, you're at peace. My grandfather used to say that the body cannot be healed without healing the spirit, so I want you to know that you're a good man and that I'm proud of you. The courage with which you faced the terrible decision to sacrifice yourself for Detective William's kids is no surprise to those who have been blessed to know you all these years, and speaks of the kind of man you are. You have truly touched our hearts with your love and generosity as a friend and an officer of the law. … You know, Steve, there's something I never told you about your father. He knew you would come back to the island eventually, and he knew you would end up being a cop after your time with the Navy, so he asked me to look out for you. It has been an honor to watch over you all this time, and I hope I can continue to do so for many, many years. Stay strong, open your heart and you will find your way back."_

"_I think you should have your own hospital wing, you know? Considering how many times you've been here and the number of people visiting your room. You tired of it yet? We, uh… we got this plan to wear you down with our endless talking so that you come back just to shut us up… but it's not working, and I don't know what else to tell you to convince you to stay. … I can't do this without you, Steve. I— I don't know how. And it kills me that you're laying there because of me, because you were trying to protect my kids. I… I can't get past that. They're good, by the way. They're okay. I'm supposed to tell you that I promised to make chocolate chips pancakes for you guys every weekend. Charlie insisted that I did. And…well, you already know what's going on with Grace since she's here all the time. I'm telling you, man, she reminds me more and more of you every day. She hates those crutches with a passion and is determined to get back on her feet as soon as she can. I swear, between you and her these poor doctors have their hands full! … They say the longer you stay unconscious the more difficult it's gonna be for you to come back so come on, buddy, wake up. Every day I come here and I'm afraid it's gonna be the last... I'm mad— I'm so mad I want to rip that stupid bracelet off your wrist and punch you in the face for making such a big decision by yourself! And don't say that we talked about it, because a half sentence while we were pumped full of meds after the transplant doesn't count. ... I'm gonna go now, Grace's doctor wants to talk to me. I'll be back later, alright? I love you, man. Try not to die while I'm gone..."_

* * *

"What's a putz?"

The room erupted with laughter at Charlie's unexpected and hilariously adorable question.

For a moment, all was forgotten: the long days spent waiting with a heavy heart for something to happen, the inevitable fallout after realizing it would take a long time for Steve to get back to normal, the involuntary outbursts prompted by sleepless nights and debilitating pain.

"What is a putz... well, a putz is someone who's not very smart," Danny explained, tousling his son's hair. "It's a nickname I like to call uncle Steve with. Like when I call Grace a monkey."

"But uncle Steve is not stupid," the boy replied, his expression serious. "He's very brave. He saved our lives."

Danny swallowed hard and glanced at his partner, who had ducked his head in embarrassment. "Yes. Yes, he did. And we love him very much. Now, why don't we let him rest for a bit and go get something to eat. What do you say, buddy?"

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeated. "Lou, can you, uh..."

"You got it," the older man nodded, acknowledging his friends' need to have a moment alone. "Let's go, guys," he said as he grabbed the handles of Grace's chair and started to wheel her out of the room. "We're gonna wait outside while your dad says goodbye to uncle Steve."

Quiet settled around them as everyone left.

Steve let his head fall back against the pillow, suddenly wiped out, wincing as the movement pulled at his healing incisions.

Danny moved closer, grasping his friend's hand in his own. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Steve shrugged. It wasn't exactly the truth as there was a lot going through his head since he'd woken up, but he wasn't going to add to his partner's obvious misery. "Thanks for bringing the kids."

"Are you kidding me? I couldn't have kept them away even if I wanted to."

Danny's fingers unconsciously brushed against the DNR bracelet that was still attached to Steve's wrist. He had tried to convince the medical staff to remove the damn thing for days with no luck.

It physically hurt to look at it.

Steve followed his gaze. "Danny, I'm sorry..." he apologized. He knew he should've told him about his decision a long time ago, but how do you break a news like that to the most important person in your life? He'd kept putting it off, waiting for the right moment, and — unsurprisingly— the right moment never came. "We should talk about this..."

"Not now," Danny waved him off, taking his hand off Steve's wrist and curling it around the bed rail. "I'm just glad you're alive."

_I'm glad your heart didn't stop beating._

_I'm glad your lungs didn't stop breathing. _

_I'm glad you're a stubborn son of a bitch who refused to give up so I didn't have to witness my best friend dying in front of me…_

"It's gonna be alright," he added with a firm voice.

"I know," Steve nodded, lips curving into a grateful smile. "How's Wang?"

"They're discharging him today. He said he'd stop by before he left."

James Wang, the 55-year-old driver of the semi, had spent most of his awake time apologizing to both Steve and Danny about the accident that had almost killed two innocent kids and the Head of Five 0. Although cleared of any responsibility, he was still wrecked with guilt and willing to make up for it any way he could.

Steve held no grudge against him. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Hey, I was thinking…" he said when the tension became too heavy. "What about red?"

"What about it?"

"For my next truck."

"Absolutely not," Danny cut him off, disapproving the mere idea of being even close to a giant red monster. "Red screams midlife crisis."

Steve's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? I'm not having a midlife crisis!"

"Whatever you say, babe. See you later."

"I'm not having a midlife crisis, Danny!"

Danny walked out of the room with a grin plastered on his face.

If it meant having Steve around, he'd gladly go to work every morning in a bright pink truck.

THE END

This was the prompt:

_Steve is stuck somewhere with Grace and Charlie. He's injured but has to hold on for them and do his best to protect them. Once the rescuers get the kids out he kind of gives up. He has done what was needed, and it's too hard to hold on now that he's saved them, so Danny has to make sure he doesn't succumb to his injuries._

Feel free to share your thoughts about the story!


	11. An Honest Mistake

**An Honest Mistake**

* * *

A/N: Took me a while, but here's another one.

It was born from a very specific scene I had in mind. One small scene that I really wanted to write. For days, it was just me and that scene. Nothing else. Just pitch black. Then slowly, very slowly and with the input and encouragement of two very special friends, I was able to build a plot around it and come up with a whole story.

Friendly reminder: what I'm trying to do with this series, what I'm interested in, is switching the focus from the plot to the characters. These stories are not about solving cases, they're about Steve and Danny being there for each other. So if you don't find a fully developed, well-fleshed plot, that's intentional. It's not the kind of details I want to describe. I just love the idea of experimenting with different scenarios and imagine how the boys would react.

Characters aren't mine, but I still love them dearly.

More notes at the end.

* * *

Hands moved frantically across the desk, rummaging through piles of neatly stacked papers with sharp, precise movements. Expert eyes scanned line after line, focusing on every printed word and string of numbers with the same amount of accuracy and speed that had made him an asset during his Naval Intelligence days.

A sense of urgency hung in the air, permeating the room.

There was barely enough light coming from outside, the sun having long set over the horizon, but Steve barely noticed it as he rifled through documents, old and new, driven by an almost physical need to find the information he knew was there before his time ran out.

He opened yet another folder and glanced at his wristwatch.

Three minutes to the deadline.

He _had_ to make it.

Failure was _not_ an option.

His heart almost leapt when he finally found the data he was looking for.

With no time to spare, he booted his laptop and accessed his email account, quickly retrieving the message he had already memorized and did not wish to look at again. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed his reply and attached the requested file.

It had to be enough.

There was no time left.

He hit 'send' when there were only 13 seconds left and leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy breath. He had met the deadline, but there was no guarantee that the people he was dealing with would keep their end of the bargain.

As scheduled, a few moments later his cellphone rang.

"Did you send it?" a flat, metallic voice asked on the other end of the line.

Steve straightened up in his chair. "Yes. Yes, I did. Now what?"

"Now you wait."

"No no no wait," he begged as he shot to his feet, unable to help the waver in his voice. "How do I know—"

But his caller was already done. Steve heard the unmistakable sound of the line clicking shut and almost screamed in frustration. A shaky hand covered his mouth while the question he had wanted to ask replayed itself over and over in his head.

_How do I know he's alright?_

* * *

_Danny pursed his lips as he drove the Camaro through the windward coast of Oahu, following a dull, brownish path stretching between two green patches of land._

_He had lost cell reception a few minutes before, when plantations and gravel had replaced buildings and paved roads. His foot was steady on the gas pedal, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he debated whether or not he should keep going. _

_If the situation was reversed and it was Steve out there, he knew he would be ranting about proper police procedures until he knocked some sense into the man's thick skull. This time, he had been the reckless one, starting after a suspect on the hunch that the car he was driving matched the partial plate of a vehicle connected to a few drug-related shootings they'd been trying to crack for weeks._

_Being a good cop meant that if something caught your eye you couldn't, in good conscience, turn the other way and ignore it. So here he was, dutifully trailing behind the dark sedan on a warm, drowsy summer afternoon, leaving civilization behind instead of driving home and enjoy his well-deserved rest._

_In a scale of one to McGarrett-crazy, what he was doing wasn't nearly as dangerous as the stunts his partner pulled, he reasoned. And he _had_ tried to contact him, but Steve was in court all day and hadn't answered his call._

_Danny had left a vague message, not wanting to bother anyone in case it turned out to be a dead end. He had no proof, after all, just a feeling and his detective's gut telling him to keep driving. _

_When he realized what he'd stumbled upon was bigger than he thought and that he probably should've added a few more details, it was already too late._

* * *

Steve had listened to the voicemail countless times in the six hours since Danny's disappearance. Looking for hidden messages, background noises, and ultimately just to hear his best friend's voice.

While he had tried to convince himself that everything was under control, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that, despite his efforts, was slowly forcing its way through his subconscious_. _

A feeling that only surfaced when Danny was in danger and reduced the big, bad Navy SEAL to a panicking mess.

He slammed his hand down on the desk, a low growl escaping his lips as he failed to restrain himself against the powerful mix of frustration and worry-induced rage coursing through his veins.

_This was not_—

This was not how it was supposed to go.

A few minutes later, his phone beeped again. This time it was a text message, with a picture attached to it.

A picture of Danny lying on the floor, hands tied behind his back. Underneath, in block letters, words he immediately wished he hadn't read:

_YOU CHOSE NOT TO FOLLOW THE RULES. _

_THIS IS ON YOU._

He dropped the phone as if his hand had been burned. The device fell on the wooden table, bounced off of it and landed on the floor with a loud thud, face up, the picture still displayed on the screen.

For a moment, all the basic functions like breathing or thinking stopped as if his body had short-circuited. Steve felt his chest tighten, muscles spasming uncontrollably and conspiring not to let any breath in. Panic soared like a giant wave, whiting out everything around him, and his mind became as static, a buzzing grey area where thoughts made no sense and jumbled images replayed themselves in a sickening loop.

_Danny_...

Despite having looked at the picture for only a few seconds, the details were already etched into his memory. The strand of blond hair covering his left eye, the torn sleeve of his striped shirt, the bruise darkening his swollen cheek.

Had they...

Had _he_ killed him?

_No!_ his brain screamed. He had sent the files, just like they'd asked.

They wouldn't...

_They couldn't_...

Forcing down the thought that his actions might have caused Danny harm, Steve bent down to retrieve the phone and hurriedly slid his thumb over the screen to unlock it.

He had to fix this.

There _had_ to be a way to fix this.

Heart hammering at an unhealthy rate, he dialed the number they had used to contact him, only to realize that the line had been disconnected.

"Damnit!" he screamed out loud, barely able to control the impulse to throw the device into the wall and watch it shatter. Fingers coiled into fists at his sides and he bowed his head, slowly breathing in and out in a desperate attempt to clear his head so he could figure out his next move.

* * *

'_Hey, Steve, it's me. I, uh… just wanted to let you know that I'll be in a little late. I might have a lead on the Park case and I'm following it to see if it pans out. No need to have a stroke over it, it's only a short detour. I'll be fine. Call you later.' _

"_WHAT? Danny, what the hell, man?" Steve said out loud as if the other man was right there to listen._

_After a long day in court, all he wanted was to head home, enjoy the fettuccine Danny had promised to cook him, and pass out on the couch. Instead, he had picked up his cellphone to find two missed calls and a voicemail from his partner who had apparently pulled a page off his own book and was chasing a lead somewhere with no backup. _

_He shook his head, unable to believe what he'd just heard. _

_The Park case. That alone was enough to make Steve's heart hammer in his chest. _

_Five-0 hadn't had a case that bad since Agent Fischer's death and the hit Adam's half-sister Noriko had ordered on the gang-related criminals they'd gathered in Ewa Beach._

_The name was linked to a powerful family who ran one of the most lucrative drug business on the island, and usually meant trouble. There were at least five relatives involved as far as they knew, and it had taken weeks and a painstaking work to gather up the evidence that would put two of them in the 6x8 cells where they belonged. The only reason they hadn't arrested them yet was that they were trying to do everything by the book, making sure they crossed all their t's and dotted the i's so that no expensive lawyer could question their methods and get them out on a technicality._

_Two out of five wasn't ideal, but it would still be a heavy blow to the organization._

_With some luck, they would strike again while the remaining members tried to regroup._

_Danny had voiced his frustration more than once, loudly, waving and jabbing his hands in the air to make his points. For once, he had been the impatient one, the first to arrive and the last to leave the office, determined to find as many leads as he could to put the whole family —and anyone they'd ever made business with— away for a very long time._

_A man of good instincts and a sixth sense for spotting crime that turned him into a bloodhound on the hunt, there was just no way he would ignore a lead if he thought he had one. _

_Steve didn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified about it._

_When all his attempts to get in touch with him failed, he called Junior and asked him to find out where Danny's cellphone had last pinged._

_Then he pressed play again._

* * *

Before Steve had a chance to sort through his jumbled thoughts, his cellphone came back to life, displaying another unknown number.

Still reeling from the shock of the picture they'd sent him and the possible consequences of his actions, it took him a moment to register the sound and for his brain to place the pieces together and reason that yes, it _had_ to be them.

He pressed the green button to accept the call and listened with bated breath.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The same guy asked in an angry voice.

"What?"

"I said, do you think I'm stupid, McGarrett?"

"No," the former SEAL replied in an equally tight tone. "No, I don't think you're stupid."

"You encrypted the files."

White knuckles clutched the edge of the desk. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then I guess you don't care if your partner's alive or dead."

"I did, okay? I did! Do you think_ I'm _stupid? I'm not gonna give up my only leverage without some insurance. I want proof of life. You show me that Detective Williams is alive and then we'll talk business."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Steve wondered if he had gone too far. "You're not in a position to make demands, Commander. If I were you, I'd think very carefully about the next words coming out of your mouth."

"This is not what we agreed on!" Desperation had slipped into his voice, but he didn't care anymore. He was prepared to do anything they asked.

His caller didn't care either.

"I make the rules. You follow them or we're done. I will contact you again with instructions in the morning."

And just like that, he hung up again.

Steve took a step back, letting his hands drop uselessly by his sides, looking stricken like he had just been physically hit.

Lost.

Guilt ripped at his soul, twisting like a worm in his gut, and he swallowed against the hard, painful lump in the back of his throat, head aching from the pressure of too many thoughts.

_What have I done?_

* * *

_The first time they contacted him, it was exactly four hours and forty-seven minutes since Danny had left the voicemail and four hours and fifty-three minutes since his last phone signal had been picked up on the H2 near Wahiawa. _

_The team was gathered around the smart table, doubling their efforts and speed like they always did whenever one of their own was in trouble. _

_Steve had fished the phone out of his pants pocket, steeling himself for the conversation, while Adam and Junior set things ready to trace and record the call._

"_Who's this?" he asked, feigning ignorance._

"_I'm disappointed, McGarrett," a male voice replied in mock dismay. Young, smug, it was probably one of Kenji Park's sons. "I thought you'd be climbing the walls by now."_

_Steve almost gasped at how accurate the description was._

"_Why should I?" _

"_Nice try," the man laughed. "As you know, your partner paid us a visit today, and he's currently enjoying our hospitality."_

_Everyone stilled for a moment, afraid to even imagine what that meant._

"_I can't guarantee he'll be returned safely, but I want to reassure you that he's okay for now."_

_Steve closed his eyes, hitched a breath through clenched teeth. "What do you want?"_

"_Everything." _

"_I don't know what that means."_

"_You've been stalking me for weeks, Commander. I want everything you have on us. Surveillance videos, transcripts, bank statements. Anything that implicates us and our business. You're going to send it to me and forget all about it." _

_The data. _

_He should've seen that coming. _

"_You know I can't do that. I'm a police officer."_

_The caller went on, unfazed. "Or, I'm gonna deliver Detective William's body to your doorstep and take someone else from your team. The lovely lady with the attitude, maybe. Or Hiro Noshimuri's son. I might even come directly for you, McGarrett…" _

_Leaning over the smart table, hands braced on the cold, smooth surface, Steve looked around the room, scanning his friends' faces. _

_He recognized a dead end when he saw one. Park was more than welcome to come for him, but he had no intention of risking Danny's life or anybody else's. That was simply not an option._

"_It's gonna take some time to put it together," he eventually said, hoping they would believe him._

"_You have one hour. Make it count."_

* * *

8:27.

The damn clock read 8:27pm.

What was he supposed to do until the morning?

He had barely gotten through the last few minutes, and had the ragged breaths and thundering heartbeat to prove it.

It might not have been the brightest idea, but encrypting those files had been the only way to try and stall Park and his sons so that they could locate them.

And now it might have cost Danny his life.

'_Snap out of it, McGarrett! Think!'_

He could hear Joe White's voice in his head, berating him for allowing his emotions to interfere with the mission's goal.

The key to staying sane was keeping a distance.

That's what the Navy had taught him.

_Don't let it get personal._

_Don't get involved._

_Don't cross the line._

He used to excel at taking that advice, back when he was a soldier.

Back when Danny wasn't part of his world.

Back before Danny _became_ his whole world.

* * *

_The second time, they called fifteen minutes before the deadline._

_Steve had just pulled into the driveway and put the Silverado in park, already glancing at his watch and trying to estimate how long it'd take him to find the folder with the content he needed to add to the data he had already gathered._

"_I'm here," he answered, edgy and slightly out of breath._

_He could hear noises on the other end of the line, distant voices, then the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh._

"_Steve?" Danny's strained voice came a second later as Steve unlocked his front door, not bothering to close it behind himself and hurrying instead towards his father's study._

"_Danny?" His reply was almost hesitant, as if he couldn't believe he was really talking to him. "Are you alright?"_

"_Not my best day… Listen, Steve, they, uh… they wanna know if you got what they want."_

"_It's gonna be alright, Danny, you hear me? I'm gonna get you out of there!" _

_He heard another hit, followed by his partner's painful groan._

"_Yes! I got what they want!" Steve shouted, wincing like they'd just hit him too. "Do not touch him, you son of a bitch!"_

"_Very good," the ominous voice he had come to fear said on the other end of the line. "Once we're done, you will receive a message. Do what it says. You have thirteen minutes, McGarrett. Not one second late."_

_The man's tone grew distant, and then he stopped talking altogether. Steve gripped his phone, pressing it even further to his ear as if the closest it was the better he could listen to what was going on. _

_He heard a thump, a muffled yelp, and a moment later, Danny's desperate plea. _

"_Don't do that, Steve. Whatever it is, don't do it!"_

"_Danny!"_

_Before Steve realized what had happened, the call was over and he was left glaring at his phone, cold sweat trickling down his neck._

'_Don't do it!'_

'_Don't do it...'_

_Memories and feelings of one of the worst days of his life flashed through his brain._

'_Whatever these people want, Steve, don't give it to them. Don't you give it to them!'_

_Not again._

_He couldn't do it again._

_The soldier who had listened to his father's death ten years before had barely made it through it._

_The man he had become now a decade later, who had lost so much and so many people, was not going to survive another loss._

_Steve rubbed a hand over his face and looked at the clock again. _

_Nine minutes._

_Shoving all those unwanted feelings down so he could function enough to complete his task, he put the phone down on the desk and got to work._

* * *

He had to be alive.

Danny just _had_ to be alive.

As the seconds ticked by and keeping his demons at bay became more and more challenging, Steve's breath turned from regular to a panting gasp and he started to suck in air like it had suddenly become thick and too difficult to draw in.

He felt anger boil deep inside his system; a hot, burning rage hungry for destruction.

Before he could stop himself, he swiped one arm across the desk, knocking everything to the floor.

It didn't make things better.

The events of the day were still weighing down on him, crushing his spirit and shattering his last shreds of normalcy into a million pieces.

Steve grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself.

Then he lifted it and hurled it across the room.

Once the first one was unleashed, wave after wave of uncontrolled fury rolled off him, uncaring about consequences, and he started to hit, break and throw anything he could get his hands on.

Danny's voice echoed in his head as he wreaked havoc on the room, relishing the feeling of skin splitting across his knuckles and the crack of wood and glass around him.

'_Don't do that, Steve. Whatever it is, don't do it!'_

_I'm sorry, Danny..._

_I'm sorry…_

When his senses floated back into place an indefinite time later Steve stilled, staring at the mess he had created. The sight prompted a sudden surge of nausea and he bolted out of the room, out of the house.

He stopped on the lanai, drawing in desperate breaths of air before heading towards the water, clothes and all, desperate to escape the world for a bit and longing for that kind of healing only the ocean could give him. He dove in cleanly, leaving no splash, and cleaved the water with rhythmic strokes, moving with precision and a practiced fluidity as he allowed his limbs to take charge and do all the work.

He swam in the dark, under the night sky until he couldn't hear Danny anymore, until he cleared his minds of every poisonous thought and his heart slunk back into the shadows where it couldn't be harmed.

* * *

Lou Grover stopped his Suburban halfway down McGarrett's driveway, frowning at the way his friend's truck had been carelessly parked with its front wheels stepping on the grass and dangerously close to a palm tree's trunk.

The realization of Danny's disappearance and the phone call demanding information they'd spent weeks and overtime gathering had shocked every team member but, for obvious reasons, Steve had taken the hardest blow. Lou had watched him slowly unravel, witnessed his demeanor change and the light fade from his eyes, replaced by the cold, angry stare he usually hid behind when emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

In the seven years he had known Steve, he'd become pretty good at reading him and anticipating his reactions, so the minute he had seen him rush out of the office he'd figured out that a) his boss had a plan, and b) said plan's only outcome was to get Danny home. Whatever it took.

What he hadn't factored in, what he would realize soon enough, was the way emotions could mess even the most perfect plan.

Sighing, Lou approached the house, noticing with apprehension that the front door was ajar.

He debated whether or not to call out for his friend, and eventually decided to slip in unnoticed, just in case there was a perp to surprise. His right hand automatically reached for the weapon at his side while the other carefully swung the door open.

At first glance, there seemed to be nothing out of place.

No intruders, no suspicious sounds.

Just silence.

As he cautiously walked across the living room, his eyes caught a bunch of papers scattered on the floor. Lou stopped, raised one eyebrow and pulled out his gun.

A closer look at the adjoining room revealed a whole other picture, and it took a few seconds for his brain to translate what he was seeing as reality. Steve's usually neat studio was completely trashed. The desk was empty, what was sitting on it thrown haphazardly on the floor. The bureau's drawers were open, its content strewn over the wooden floorboards. Chairs were overturned. Lamps broken. John McGarrett's old paintings lay discarded in a corner, their frames shattered beyond repair.

Even his cellphone had met the same fate and was sitting half-hidden next to the toppled desk.

Lou picked it up, stared at the broken screen.

His stomach knotted with renewed worry.

"Steve?"

He said his friend's name out loud, not really expecting him to answer, and quashed the feeling, replacing it with a different kind of fear.

Intuition and decades of experience were telling him that the devastation he was seeing wasn't the result of a fight.

A quick glance at the kitchen and spare bedroom confirmed it.

No one had broken into the house.

Steve had just lost control.

Grover shook his head and reached for the desk, set it back upright.

He glanced outside, towards the ocean, and almost jumped out of his skin when he spotted a lone figure making its way towards the house. Holstering his weapon, Lou moved aside and bowed his head, watching as Steve wearily dragged himself inside, dripping wet, guilt and self-loathing plastered on his face.

If he was surprised to see him there, he didn't show it.

Neither of them moved for a few moments, Steve standing stock still in the middle of the room and Grover leaning against the doorframe.

"I encrypted the files," the former SEAL said when he finally broke the silence. "Thought it would buy us some time..."

"What'd they do?"

Steve opened his mouth to speak, swallowed hard, tried again. "They... they sent a picture." He hesitantly raised his head to meet his friend's eyes, relieved to find no judgment or resentment there, only understanding.

Lou nodded slowly, crossed his arms over his chest. That explained the outburst and the fully-clothed night dive into the ocean.

"How bad is it?" he asked, the clenched fists and white knuckles he was staring at already telling him he wouldn't like the answer.

"I don't…" Steve dropped his gaze again. "He looks…" He pointed at his phone, silently urging the other man to look for himself because he couldn't stomach the thought of ever seeing it again.

Grover reached for the device, found the shot of Danny who appeared, for all intents and purposes, dead, and resisted the urge to smash a few things of his own.

"They're not going to kill him, Steve," he said, trying to reassure them both. "They need him alive."

Steve sucked in air, felt it stab just under his breastbone. "Yeah..."

"What's the plan?"

"They said they'd contact me again with instructions in the morning." His voice had a hard edge, his body still rigid with fury that the swim hadn't completely soothed.

"Alright. So, what are _we_ gonna do?"

Steve scrubbed a hand across his face and fixed Lou with a stare that could have frozen the Pacific, a look that said _'I'm gonna find them and kill them all'_.

"We're gonna be ready."

* * *

Danny groaned, shifted to lean his upper body against the wall.

He was thirsty as hell, had the mother of all headaches, and somehow during the fight with his captors that had caused him to lose consciousness he'd dislocated his left shoulder. The whole limb was now throbbing incessantly, the pain made worse by the awkward position he was forced into since they had tied his hands behind his back.

Despite all that, he was still lucid and determined enough not to make their lives easy.

It was just a matter of stalling them until Steve found him.

Steve, who was probably going to rip him a new one when he realized what he had done.

There was a reason he always ranted about protocol. Protocol was there to prevent situations like this. Protocol was every cop's friend.

The fact that his hunch had proved to be correct was a small consolation as he sat on the ground, glaring at the six-foot-three, 250-pound man who was assigned to watch him.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Where's the rest of the band?"

His legs weren't restrained, and he still had the ability to talk, which he fully intended to use to his advantage. The people who had taken him were either morons or so full of themselves that they didn't think of him as a threat.

Danny figured the two things weren't mutually exclusive.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

The man just stared angrily at him.

"Whatever plan you guys think you have it's not gonna work, you know. Even if you kill me, my team is gonna rip your fucking business to shreds." He shifted, pulled his knees up. "There will be nothing left, I'm telling you."

The comment struck a chord. His captor reached for the gun at his side and walked menacingly towards him. "I wouldn't count on that," he snarled, looming over Danny's huddled form.

"Yeah, see, that's where you're wrong," the blond detective replied, showing his adversary no fear. "You don't know my partner. He's an animal, he's gonna tear the island apart looking for me. I personally wouldn't get on his bad side, but that's just me."

The man reached down and grabbed a fistful of Danny's shirt, pulling him up to his feet. Danny hissed as the pain in his shoulder flared up again, tried to cover his discomfort and failed.

"Your partner knows what's at stake, and agrees that it's best to do what he's told."

Danny's eyes narrowed at the words. "What'd you do, huh?" he demanded with barely restrained anger as a feeling of dread knotted his stomach. "What did you say to him?"

He had tried to warn Steve, telling him not to comply with the men's requests, knowing as he did so that his friend would do everything in his power to find him and get him home, including making a deal with the Park family. He would do the exact same thing if the roles were reversed.

A moment later, he felt the man's 9mm under his chin.

"I would stop talking if I were you," he warned. "But that's just me." The gun pressed against Danny's throat, forcing his neck at an awkward angle. "Make no mistake, detective. I _will_ kill you if you don't do as I say." Then without warning, he released the grip on his captive's shirt. Unprepared, Danny fell to the floor. He tried to twist his body to land on his uninjured side, but the impact jarred his shoulder anyway, leaving him curled up in a fetal position and gasping for breath.

"The exchange is in an hour. You want to live, I suggest you start following orders."

_Exchange?_

As he struggled through the pain, Danny watched the man leave the room and realized that if he wanted to get out of there and help Steve and his team take these bastards down, he needed to come up with a plan before this exchange, or whatever was about to go down.

He had to do something, and he had to do it now.

* * *

"Commander McGarrett, I trust there will be no surprises this time."

The third and final call came as they were gearing up at HQ, getting ready to head wherever the Park brothers instructed them to.

After the outburst at the house Steve had collected himself, changed out of his wet clothes and headed back to the Palace where he'd spent the night formulating a plan of attack. HPD was already surveilling all the gang's known locations, reporting no suspicious activities, so he figured they were intentionally staying off the radar and keeping Danny around the same area where his cell phone had last pinged.

Also, both brothers had been spotted around town conducting their usual business, which meant they'd left their hostage in somebody else's care, or were fairly confident he wouldn't cause trouble.

Steve immediately scratched the second option off his mind.

He secured the straps of his protective vest and put the phone on speaker, allowing everyone to hear

"No," he replied curtly, his jaw tense.

"Good," the voice replied in a falsely relieved tone. "I trust you're a man of your word. You'll forgive me if I've taken a few precautions anyway, just to make sure you're going to deliver what's promised."

The veiled threat echoed around the room. Steve found Lou's gaze and held it as sparks of anger reignited again at his enemy's words. The older man gave him an encouraging nod, silently conveying all of his support and the strength his friend desperately needed.

"I want to talk to Detective Williams."

"You can't."

"Then I'm not—"

The man cut him off. "We've been through this, McGarrett. I talk, you listen. Anything else, any small deviation from schedule, and there will be consequences."

Steve's fingers found the edge of the table and curled around it in a tight grip. The picture of his partner's unconscious form was seared into his brain, its details seizing every conscious thought, and part of him was still terrified to find out that they'd already killed him and all his actions had been for naught.

More than that, that those actions had been the ones to cause it.

He felt Lou's steady presence at his side, hardened his resolve by looking into his teammates' eyes.

"What do you want me to do?"

* * *

The exchange took place in Waipahu, bringing back more memories of friends in trouble and desperate measures to bring them back to safety.

Steve prepared as if he was back in combat, expecting strenuous fights and gunfire. With his teammates scattered around to provide backup and the resolve to get intel on Danny's whereabouts, he showed up steely-eyed and ready for battle.

A few minutes of resistance, and his opponents realized that their struggle was futile.

Finding himself face to face with Joseph, the younger of the Park brothers, Steve recognized the voice that had taunted him over the phone. He punched him in the face, just because he could.

Under the threat of impending death, the man had given up the locations of their illicit trades.

If someone had questioned the additional black eye and dislocated jaw he'd sported at the end of the impromptu interrogation, they would've shrugged it off as punishment for resisting arrest.

No one did.

Five-0 spread over the two different sites, coordinating with HPD so they could assist them with more manpower. Steve, Junior and Adam took the one closer to Danny's latest known position while the others headed to Kapolei to capture the rest of the gang.

Heart in his throat, Steve sped through the trafficked roads as fast as humanly possible, giving Adam —who was following in a second vehicle— a hard time keeping up with him.

Seconds blurred into minutes.

Buildings blurred into trees.

He didn't notice any of it, his thousand-yard stare focused on the road and the mission ahead.

When he stormed into the room his friend was kept in thirteen minutes later, his two teammates hot on his heels and securing the perimeter, the scene playing out before him took him completely by surprise.

Danny, his bloody face staring defiantly ahead, was kneeling on the ground, a gun pointed to his head. The thug towering over him was panting harshly, nursing an aching jaw with his free hand. Another man was lying in a heap next to him, clearly unconscious.

In his best 'shoot first, think later' stunt, Steve squeezed the trigger, killing his partner's captor with a precise shot to the head.

"Danny!"

Unsteady legs crossed the space between them, rushing him by Danny's side. He looked him over, taking in the bruises, his split lip, and the swollen eye while simultaneously breathing in relief at the realization that he was really there.

Alive.

"What's the matter with you, huh?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. His heart was still beating twice as fast, the panic that had gripped it struggling to recede. "Going after suspects without backup? They could've killed you!"

"That's usually my line."

"Yeah, well, this time you earned it."

They stared at each other for a long moment, both panting for breath, adrenaline still pumping.

"Help me out, will ya?" Danny said, struggling to get back on his feet.

Steve immediately reached for the knife in his pocket and cut the zip tie binding his friend's hands. "Your shoulder..." he whispered, eyes wide, as soon as he saw the visibly deformed joint.

Danny cradled his arm protectively across his chest. "Hurts like a bitch. What did they want?"

"The files. Everything we had on them."

"And you—"

"I did," Steve cut him off. "I gave it to them. They said they were gonna kill you."

"I told you not to do it…"

"Don't worry, I took precautions so they couldn't access the data."

"Good. That's good. So you're not completely whacked out of your head because let me remind you, that took a whole month to gather."

"I wasn't gonna risk your life," Steve replied matter-of-factly, squashing his friend's attempt at humor and surprised he would even question his decision.

Danny saw the fear on Steve's face, the barely restrained worry, and smiled at him through his discomfort. "I'm fine, they just knocked me around a little."

"Don't ever do that to me again, Danno."

"I'm alright, Steve. I'm okay. Let's get out of here."

Steve slid one arm around his partner's waist, trying to support as much of his weight as possible as he led them out of the room. "You did this?" he asked, nodding at the unconscious man at their feet.

"Thought I'd speed things up," Danny shrugged. "Took you long enough…"

A look of pride flashed across Steve's eyes. "What happened?"

"That's a story for another day, buddy. I just want to go home."

Steve nodded, and there was a long silence after that. Reassured by the warm presence at his side, he felt his heart slow back to normal and the tension gradually leave his body.

It was over.

They had beaten the odds again.

Outside, two more men were lying on the ground, legs spread, hands behind their heads. Junior had his gun trained on them, and was using the same threatening glare that always got Steve what he wanted. A few feet further, Adam was on the phone calling for an ambulance.

Steve guided Danny to a stack of crates and sat him down, frowning at the look on his friend's face. Having dislocated his shoulder more times than he liked to remember, he knew exactly how painful it was.

"I could pop it back in, you know."

Danny looked at him with his patented 'are you insane' expression on his face. "Who are you, Martin Riggs?"

"Who?" Steve's brow furrowed.

"Martin Riggs. Lethal Weapon. 80's classic about—"

"I've seen the movie, Danny."

"Then you'll know that under no circumstances I'll slam my shoulder against the wall to fix it," he stated, right hand waving and punctuating his speech.

"That's not what I was suggesting."

"You've done it before, haven't you?

Steve glared at him but didn't answer.

"Of course you have. Why am I even asking?"

"Shut up."

"You, my friend, are the real lethal weapon," Danny smiled. "And I've never been so happy to see you. Thanks for coming."

Steve nodded, his eyes saying what his voice couldn't.

_Always._

_I will always come for you._

Danny stood up and wrapped his good arm around Steve's waist. "Come here, I love you."

"I love you too, buddy."

* * *

'Home', Danny learned, turned out to be Steve's house.

He didn't even question it, didn't bother arguing, just eagerly collected his discharge papers and prescriptions and followed him to the parking lot.

The drive was a blur. He lost time, and only realized they were there when Steve put a hand on his thigh to bring him back to the present.

Climbing out of the ridiculously tall truck was a challenge. Danny struggled a bit but managed to do it, grabbing the door for support. He took a deep breath once his feet touched the ground and started to make his way to the front door. Steve followed, hovering behind him and ready to take action if necessary.

"I'm fine, Steve. Relax."

"If you say so, buddy."

Danny might be fine, but Steve sure wasn't. The adrenaline dump after such an intense day had drained all of his energy, and the emotions he'd struggled with were still messing with his head, ratcheting up the need to be as physically close to him as possible.

He unlocked the door, moved aside to let him in and turned on the lights. "Sit down, I'll get you some water for your pain meds."

"Yeah," Danny nodded, watching him disappear into the kitchen. He stood in the middle of the living room, breathing slowly, realizing how close he'd gotten to losing everything he had.

Part of being a good law enforcement officer was learning how to pick one's battles.

No case was worth risking your life for.

As he vowed never to put the job first again, something caught his attention. Something that clashed with his partner's nature and felt out of place in his obsessively neat house.

"What is this?" he asked, pointing to the mess in the study Steve had never gotten to clean.

The former SEAL stilled as if caught red-handed. He had completely forgotten about it.

"Yo, come over here," he said, pretending he hadn't heard him while knowing full well he wouldn't be able to distract Danny from the chaos he was staring at. "Let me check that shoulder."

"I told you, I'm fine. What happened in here?"

Steve ducked his head, trying to hide the shame marking his features. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and reluctantly walked up to him. "I got a little carried away..."

"Neanderthal," Danny huffed, though the way he said it and the soft expression on his face made it clear it was more like a term of endearment than an actual rebuke. He knew what had happened even before he'd asked, could tell with clear certainty what had driven Steve to go all Terminator on the room. The thought made him smile with affection and tore at his heart at the same time.

Mindful of his injured arm carefully wrapped in a sling, he bent down and picked up the broken lamp that used to sit on John McGarrett's desk.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, reaching out to take it from his hand. "Doctor said no lifting, no strain."

He didn't want his friend to exert himself.

That was his mess to clean.

Danny clung to it, twisting his body so that Steve couldn't grab it. His reckless behavior had caused this, and he felt like it was his duty to at least try and fix it. He placed the lamp on the empty desk and wordlessly moved towards the pile of documents sitting on his left.

Steve sighed.

He wanted to say something but no word seemed appropriate so he headed to the kitchen, grabbed a few trash bags from one of the cabinets and came back. He held one open for Danny, who threw in some of the junk he had already collected, then deposited it at his feet and started to tidy up the other side of the room.

This wasn't how he had imagined their evening to go, but somehow it felt right to be here, together, working in comfortable silence to —literally and figuratively— put back together the broken pieces of their lives.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

The scene I mentioned at the beginning, the one that prompted me to start this story, was Steve trashing his father's study. Completely losing control and unleashing all his rage. I could see it so very clearly in my head. We all know there would be only one reason for that, so after staring at my one page for almost a week I decided Danny had to be in danger somehow. But Danny, the Danny I love, is not a damsel in distress. If physically able, he can take care of himself and even cause trouble. Also the idea of him being the one to check out a lead without backup, something he usually chastises Steve for, was too tempting to be ignored.

Share your thoughts with me if you'd like. I always enjoy reading your feedback.


	12. A Kaleidoscope of Blue and Red

**A Kaleidoscope of Blue and Red**

* * *

A/N: Here's the latest installment. This too was a request with a very specific prompt that I tried my best to develop. You'll find it at the end of the story. The theme is not original, but I hope I managed to add enough personal touches to make it different.

A heartfelt thank you to my beta reader who always knows what to say to make me feel better and to a couple of very special people who helped me through my 'I don't want to write ever again' crisis.

* * *

"_Hold on when there is nothing in you _

_except the will which says 'Hold on!'"_

— _Rudyard Kipling_

* * *

"Steve! Hey, Steve, come on! Head above the water! What's the matter with you, huh? Who's the SuperSEAL?" Danny urged, looping his own arm around the life preserver and stopping for some much-needed rest. "I'm not doing all this for nothing. Alright? Here, both hands on this thing, come on. Head above the water."

"Yeah… I'm okay, Danny, keep going."

"Just give me a sec, will ya? I'm not trained to swim across the Pacific."

"Sorry…"

"Not your fault. Just… just hold on." He gave his friend's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and turned to float on his back. The blue sky loomed over him, making him feel claustrophobic even though his situation was the very opposite of it. Blue was everywhere. Different shades of it, covering the ocean's surface and traveling up, up, up for as far as the eye could see.

The sun beat mercilessly down on them.

It was almost perpendicular now, signaling it was close to noon.

They'd been out here for hours.

And it was ironic, really, if he stopped to think about it, that he'd been the one to suggest that they checked to see if their suspect's boat had returned to dock.

Steve wanted to head straight to HQ, coordinate with the Coast Guard and have them search the area where they'd last seen it. Danny had insisted, and when they saw the 'Alika' sitting behind a locked gate at the marina, they couldn't believe their luck. '_Let's do it'_, they'd agreed, nodding at each other without saying a word.

Fifteen minutes later, they had found themselves outnumbered, subdued and incapacitated as the boat sailed again towards the open water with them as unwilling cargo.

The perps' intentions were clear. Dump them into the ocean and hope their bodies would never be found. Danny's initially concerned attitude had taken a nosedive straight into panic when Steve had tried to disarm one of the men and ended up with a bullet to his leg.

A healthy SEAL might have increased their chance of survival.

A wounded partner made things a hell of a lot more difficult.

Steve had been a trooper, Danny had to give him that. The hole in his left thigh hadn't slowed him down a bit. He'd swam as if he wasn't even injured, using his good leg to compensate and head them towards land. Wherever he believed that was.

Gradually, his strength had started to wane, and three hours after their unfortunate run-in with Jin Lao and his goons here they were, in the middle of the ocean, with nothing in the way of resources but a life preserver Danny had had the presence of mind to grab before they were forced to jump overboard.

Blinking away the tears that were threatening to spill, Danny closed his eyes.

In the midst of all this vastness it was easy to lose hope, and his pessimistic nature was slowly but steadily taking over.

He glanced over at Steve, who was stubbornly holding onto their only lifeline. His face was pale despite the time they'd spent in direct sunlight, unflattering lines of pain and worry marking his handsome features. Small rivulets of red stained the water around him, and Danny did his best to ignore the thought of sharks being drawn to blood and what salt, polluted water could do to an open would and a compromised immune system.

The first time his friend's head had bobbed beneath the waves, Danny hadn't worried. Steve had extensive training. He could hold his breath for ridiculous amounts of time and swim the longest distance with the practiced ease of someone who had spent more time in the water than on dry land.

It was his element. There was nothing that scared him about it.

When it happened again a short time later and Steve almost slipped under the water unnoticed, Danny panicked. He was barely hanging on, the responsibility of getting them both to safety weighing heavily on his shoulders.

He couldn't do this without him.

Even half conscious and in pain, Steve was giving him directions and survival tips.

There was no way he'd make it alone.

Plus, if the six-foot-tall, 180-pound Neanderthal lost consciousness, he wasn't sure he would be able to hold his weight and rescue him.

Danny licked his parched, cracked lips.

He needed to move. They were the proverbial "needle in a haystack", adrift on an ocean with no land in sight. Remaining where they were was a death sentence, and not a painless one either.

He stared out across the sea, unable to distinguish between the salty blue ocean and the horizon. "Where to?" he asked. It was a way to engage his friend, determine his lucidity, and reassure himself that his efforts might actually lead to something. "Steve! Which way?"

Steve blinked, stared at him with a confused expression.

It took him a few moments to realize what was being asked of him. When he did, he tipped his head back and looked at the sky, then pointed a weak hand somewhere behind Danny's back. "There," he said in a rough voice.

"Alright," Danny nodded, adjusting the rope that was connected to the life buoy across his chest like he had watched Steve do years before. He could see nothing, couldn't figure out how someone could pinpoint a location when there were no landmarks in sight, but he trusted his friend to steer them in the right direction. "You ready? I'm gonna start swimming again. Hold on, alright?"

"'m ready…"

Danny took a deep breath, ignored his protesting muscles, and began to move.

* * *

Steve stared at the slick of red staining the water around him.

The makeshift bandage Danny had applied to his thigh wasn't doing much in terms of stopping the blood flow, which after a few hours was still leaking from the wound. The whole leg was basically useless now, and despite calling all of his reserves and the years of training he had endured, he wasn't sure how long he could last. He felt lightheaded, his mind was losing focus, and the calm and calculated movements he'd tried to make to help Danny move faster were getting more and more uncoordinated.

Despite his problems, all he could think of was Danny and how difficult it must be for him to be in the water like this. The whole thing was probably bringing back memories of their misadventure a few years back and the death of his best friend when he was a kid.

Steve remembered him telling the story while they were stranded in a slowly leaking dinghy. He had asked what was his problem with the water, frustrated by his endless complaints, and Danny had shared the memory of watching another boy die right in front of him.

Losing someone so tragically, at that young an age, had probably helped shape his friend into who he was.

Steve knew all about it, and it hurt to be the one responsible for adding even more pain.

"You should save yourself," he mumbled, using the hand that was not holding the life preserver to move the water around him so his partner wouldn't see the blood.

"What?" the blond replied, pausing to tread water.

"I said you should… save yourself. There's no point in both of us dying out here."

The ocean was something he loved, something he respected. Steve understood its beauty and its dangers, knew that it could turn from quiet and placid to loud and dangerous, taking lives without people even realizing it.

If it came to it, he had to convince Danny to leave him behind.

Danny's eyes narrowed. He swam closer, gripped his partner's shoulder and squeezed it. "Listen to me very carefully, alright? First of all, there's absolutely no way I'm gonna leave you out here alone and secondly even if I did, where the hell am I supposed to go? Huh? There's nothing around here, Steve. A whole lot of nothing, for miles and miles. I get one mile closer and where does it get me? Still in the middle of the goddamn ocean, still too far away from land, so save your breath and use it to stay alive!"

Steve lowered his head, chin resting on the life buoy's plastic surface. "I'm sorry, Danny…"

"For what? If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you. It was my brilliant idea that got us here." He watched his friend's lips curl into a small smile and furrowed his brow. "What? Why are you smiling?"

"Not… used to… you apologizing to me."

Arms and legs moving on autopilot to give them a fighting chance, Danny tried his best to smile back. "I have my moments. We make it out of here, I'm gonna treat you to a nice, Italian dinner, alright?"

Steve closed his eyes, savoring the taste of every dish he'd had the fortune to try. "You gonna cook?"

"Am I go—what kind of question is that, of course I'm gonna cook!"

"Sounds great," he replied, fighting to keep his head above water.

His arms felt like they were made of jello but he held on, shivering despite the unrelenting sun beating down on them. "You alright?" he asked when he saw Danny grimace in pain. They'd been adrift for over three hours. He was probably cramping real bad.

"No. But I got no choice."

Steve bit his lip, forcing down the thought that he was just a burden slowing them down. He wasn't a pessimist, and the word 'quitting' had been erased from his vocabulary by years of training and his very own nature, yet as he watched Danny resume his exhausted swimming and more swirls of red rise to the surface, he started to acknowledge that this time, the odds weren't in their favors.

The thought was validated not ten minutes later, when his hand slipped and he lost his grip on the life buoy.

The cold water pushed him down, and as he went under he was reminded of something one of his instructors had said about drowning being a quiet affair, about people barely making any noise. One minute they're there, and the next they're gone.

Steve didn't want to add his name to those statistics so he fought, doing his best to swim back up.

He kept fighting even as his oxygen levels dropped and his heart started to beat faster, moving uncoordinatedly like no SEAL ever should while he held his breath and wondered if Danny had even realized he was gone.

He couldn't leave him out there.

He wouldn't leave him alone.

The struggle seemed to last forever but only took less than a minute. With superhuman effort, Steve managed to break the surface, gulping in air as he strained to stay afloat. His hand found the ring-shaped flotation device and he held onto it with all his might while coughing and sputtering the salt water he'd swallowed.

"Steve!" Danny called in a panic as soon as he saw him. "What happened? I turned around and you weren't there!" He rushed up to his friend in two powerful strikes, looked him over, then grabbed Steve's free hand and placed it next to the other. "What'd I tell you, huh? Both hands. Here, hold on or I'll make you wear this thing like a child."

"'m alright…"

"Like hell you are…"

Danny was breathing hard, his own heart thumping wildly inside his chest. He shook his head at the unfairness of it all and mirrored Steve's pose, holding onto the life buoy while he took a few calming breaths and rested his cramping legs.

They stayed like that for a moment, looking into each other's eyes.

Making promises, asking for forgiveness.

Professing their love.

"Da... Danny..." Steve suddenly wheezed, feeling all the strength leave his body and a numbing cold envelop him.

"Yeah."

"Danny…" he repeated, this time a little louder.

Wide, worried eyes stared back at him. "What? What's the matter?"

"I… I think I'm going to pass out now."

Before Danny could react, Steve's vision blurred out and his consciousness faltered. Within a few seconds he was drowning again, sinking faster and faster, limbs as heavy as lead.

The ocean closed in around him, trapping him, threatening to swallow him whole. Using the last shred of awareness he had left, Steve held his breath. He had done it a thousand times and yet, now that it mattered, his brain couldn't seem to grasp the familiar command with the same ease as in the past.

His head pounded, every cell in his body screaming for oxygen. Splotches of black began to progressively seep in at the edge of his vision, to the point where he couldn't tell if his eyes were opened or closed. There was pressure, unbearable pressure on his chest as the indigo water kept swirling around him, keeping him from the oxygen he needed.

When the urgency for air became too much and he felt like he was going to explode, he said a silent apology to his best friend and gave in.

There was no fear, no heart hammering inside his ribs.

He just… took a breath.

The water rushed in, cold and murky, and thrusted up his nostrils, cascading into the back of his nose and throat.

It didn't hurt like he thought it would.

In fact, it was almost peaceful.

His limbs slowed down and he let himself float, falling further and further into the depths. The coldness he had felt up until then was completely gone, and — ever so slowly— everything faded away. He didn't want to die like this, but it was too hard to even try to fight it.

Exhaling one final breath, Steve watched it rise in a fascinating stream of bubbles back to the surface.

Then he let the darkness take over.

* * *

Danny had known, the minute he'd heard Steve's distressed voice, that something terrible was about to happen. The man didn't scare easily, and would rather cut his own arm than show anybody fear.

Seeing him disappear beneath the surface caught him by surprise and he froze, paralyzed by fear, because Steve _couldn't_ drown, it just couldn't end like that and his eyes rolling to the back of his head weren't going to be the last thing Danny ever saw of him.

"Steve!"

The hoarse, desperate call tore out of his throat as he started to move, hoping against hope to see him resurface while fighting the vision of his lifeless body, waterlogged and blue, pulled up by the rescuers.

A particularly strong wave pushed him farther away just as he was getting ready to dive in. Danny screamed in frustration, doubling his efforts to get back to where his friend had just dropped from sight.

Ditching the life preserver so it wouldn't slow him down, he sucked in a deep breath and plunged into the water, head pounding with fear, looking around frantically through his increasingly blurred vision.

Colors faded, sounds muted, and all he could hear was his heartbeat quickening in intensity and speed.

Where was Steve?

How was he _ever_ going to find him?

His brain was in full panic mode, threatening to burst any second.

Arms and legs desperately kicking out, lungs feeling as if they'd been set on fire, he clawed through the water for what seemed like the longest time until he spotted a hint of blue down by his feet.

Steve's shirt.

It _had_ to be Steve.

Danny dove farther, almost bumped into the solid wall of muscles that was his friend's chest, and with no time to waste clasped his wrist and started to drag him towards the surface.

While he was no expert in deep-water rescue, he had learned the basics and knew there was a short window of time before lack of oxygen and brain damage became a real possibility.

Throat searing with the rising pressure of trapped air, he positioned himself behind Steve, reached one arm across his chest, holding him firmly, and started to tow him upward.

The ascent felt excruciatingly long, the daylight above looking elusive and far, too far away. Danny struggled, his legs moving frantically to cover the distance as quickly as he could.

When he finally emerged, gasping for air, his whole body was throbbing and shaking from the adrenaline rushing through his system.

Ignoring his own needs, he placed both hands under Steve's armpits and grasped his shoulders, rolling him over so that he was face-up, then allowed himself a moment of relief for accomplishing something that seemed impossible to achieve.

The reprieve was short-lived, only lasting until he noticed his friend's blue-tinged lips and realized that Steve wasn't breathing.

"Steve? Come on, buddy, don't do this… you're _not_ leaving me here alone, you hear me?" Using one hand to stroke, he scrambled towards the life preserver that was floating nearby and grabbed it, putting it around his partner's unconscious form. "I know you hate this, so feel free to wake up and yell at me, alright?"

It was a tricky act holding it steady against the waves, but Danny tried to position him as best as he could. Ear over Steve's mouth, he quickly confirmed that his friend had a pulse but his lungs were stubbornly still, and immediately started the rescue breathing to provide him ventilation. He tilted Steve's head back, parted his lips and sealed their mouths together.

He breathed for him once, twice, three times, his exhausted lungs -already weakened by the dive- working overtime to deliver the much-needed oxygen and keep both alive.

"Breathe, man… breathe…" he urged him in between tries.

The strain left him lightheaded and out of breath, but he was rewarded a few minutes later when Steve started to cough and sputter salt water out of his mouth.

It was the most beautiful thing Danny had ever seen.

"That's it, come on! Breathe like the badass I know you are…"

Dazed, confused eyes slowly opened and stared back at him as Steve kept hacking up water.

"You're alright," Danny whispered, overwhelmed with relief. "You're alive…"

"Wha—" Steve tried in between coughing.

"You drowned on me, that's what happened. Your SEAL buddies are gonna have a field day when they hear about this." His voice was rough and tense but his gaze was soft and caring. He had almost lost him, and it was a feeling he never wanted to experience again.

He closed his eyes for a moment, physically and emotionally exhausted from the rescue, the hours-long swim and everything that had happened.

They had won a battle, but the war was still on.

They couldn't stay there. Danny had to at least try to get them closer to land.

"You hold on, alright?" he said, framing Steve's face with both hands. He would do anything for him, including exerting himself until he collapsed. "I can't get us out of here if you don't do your part. I know that— wait, what…" he stopped when his eyes caught a glimpse of something in the distance. He turned to get a better look and his heart almost leapt with joy. "It's a raft! Steve, hey, look! It's a raft!"

Steve struggled to shift so he could stand perpendicular to the surface. He followed Danny's gaze and sure enough there was a grey, raft-shaped object bobbing on the waves about 300 feet up north.

"That's... great, Danno. You're... going home," he said softly, attempting a weak smile.

Danny ignored the use of the singular pronoun and grabbed a fistful of his friend's shirt.

"I'm gonna get us there, alright? You just promise me to stay alive."

Heedless of his weariness and the wet clothes weighing him down, he looped the rope connected to the life buoy back across his chest and started to swim towards the raft.

The current was so strong that every stroke he took felt like he was pushed back two. And yet Danny moved, braving the strong waves of the ocean that seemed to have him in its clutches, relentless in his quest to get them to the very thing that might keep them alive.

He forced through by sheer will, inch by inch, farther and farther, and when his hand finally touched the rubberized fabric and curled around it there were tears running down his face.

Turning on his back, he let the waves wash them away.

The sun's broiling rays made him feel like he was being cooked alive, and he was grateful for the sudden chance to get out of the water for a while. They'd been in there too long. Sighing, Danny braced both hands on the raft so he could lift himself up first and then get Steve inside. His partner had his eyes closed, and it looked like he'd lost consciousness again.

Swallowing hard, the blond detective quickened his pace.

As he pulled himself up and onto the life-boat, his hand touched something that felt suspiciously like cold skin and he recoiled in disgust with a gasp, almost falling back into the water.

There was a dead body inside, limbs sprawled out as if death had just caught him by surprise.

Danny recognized the guy. He had been on the boat with them, and his face had come up during their investigation as Lao's business partner.

So what the hell had happened?

Good old-fashioned greed, Danny guessed, since the drug lord had recently acquired a large sum of money that he probably didn't want to share.

Not that he cared.

_Good riddance_, he thought, looking at the gaping hole in the man's gut and the blood that had pooled under him. A sense of dread rose within him as he thought of the similar fate awaiting Steve if they didn't rescue them soon, and he quickly shoved it aside.

"Steve?" he called, voice thick with emotion. "Come on, buddy, let's get you out of the water."

He stripped the dead man of his shirt, then with absolutely no remorse dumped the body into the ocean to make room for his friend.

Hoisting up Steve's unconscious form was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, and Danny cried out in frustration the first two times when he couldn't get him into the raft.

Memories of the plane incident and the air traffic controller's voice urging him to a water landing filled his mind. Danny remembered every detail as if it had happened just moments ago.

This.

This was what he'd been afraid of.

Being forced to watch his partner die because he couldn't lift him.

"Come on!" he screamed as if someone could hear him and help him out.

A few excruciating minutes later, he finally managed to get Steve's body out of the water.

"You owe me, you hear me?" he panted, his exhausted body slumped on his hands and knees. "I know I said we were... square when we helped... the nightmare that is... my ex mother-in-law, but I... changed my mind. This is almost as... bad as me giving you half of my liver."

He checked Steve's pulse, then proceeded to wrap part of the dead guy's shirt around his thigh to stop the blood that was still leaking from the wound, using the rest to craft makeshift hats to protect them against the blistering sun.

When he was satisfied that his partner was resting somewhat peacefully and he'd done everything he could, he sat down and leaned his head against the edge of the life boat, closing his eyes. They weren't safe yet, and he still planned on towing them as closer to land as he could, but he needed to take a break.

Just for a short while.

His last thought before exhaustion took over was the hope that his kids would still be proud of him if he didn't make it.

* * *

Steve drifted into consciousness.

Heavy lids parted, taking in the blurriness that was the world around him. His chest felt tight, making breathing harder than it was supposed to, and he couldn't keep focus.

So he drifted back out.

When he came to again, the first thing he noticed was the unusual, pleasant warmth spreading through his body. How could he be warm if they had been swimming for hours?

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes, blinking in surprise at the realization that he was no longer in the water. Details were hazy, the fractured images he was trying to access completely out of reach. He knew they were stranded, but how or when he had gotten into the raft, he couldn't tell.

Stretching his legs, he noticed the white, thick bandage on his thigh. He had no recollection of that either, though he was relieved that the wound had finally stopped bleeding.

Not that it was going to help.

He was still a burden, wishing like hell that he could do something besides sitting and trying to breathe properly.

A movement to his left drew his attention, and he saw Danny curled up next to him, fast asleep.

Steve reached out a hand to touch him, driven by the familiar need to make sure he was alright.

What Danny had done went far and beyond what any non-trained individual would have accomplished. It was no surprise he was exhausted. He just hoped they would find them in time so his friend could go back home to his kids.

Shivering despite the heat Steve sat up, taking in the view. The ocean stretched around them in every direction – a perfect, endless circle of blue. And in the middle of it, their little raft, lost and almost out of place in the vast expanse of water.

For now it was calm, harmless, but he knew it wouldn't stay that way forever. And even if it did, they would likely die from dehydration before they could fully appreciate it.

How long had it been since Lao's boat had ditched them?

How much time did they actually have left?

As if on cue, a bout of coughing rocked his frame, alerting him that it might be less than he thought and waking Danny up in the process.

"Hey, you're awake! How are you feeling?" Danny asked, shifting into a kneeling position so he could get closer. The back of his fingers brushed his friend's cheek in an affectionate, intimate gesture and Steve closed his eyes, reveling in the comfort that the physical contact provided.

The lie he was about to tell died on his lips.

"Like crap," he croaked, licking his dry lips. They were literally surrounded by water and he couldn't drink any of it. It might be humorous if the situation wasn't so damn dire. "I'm sorry," he added a moment later.

Danny held up one hand, index raised. "Stop saying that. There's nothing you could've done."

"I know how hard this must be because of you friend... Billy," Steve went on, lost in a train of wild thoughts fueled by dehydration, blood loss and exposure. "And I... I'm sorry for putting you through this because... I may not make it out of here."

Danny sat back, stunned.

"This isn't hard because of Billy," he replied with a firm voice that left no doubt about the truth he was speaking. "It's hard because it's _you_."

It was the truth. He hadn't thought of his best friend's death in a really long time.

Watching Billy die had been horrifying, but the panic he'd felt as a young boy when his best friend had disappeared below the water was not even remotely comparable to the terror that had seized him when it had happened to Steve. Their current-day predicament was much, much scarier, his only concern now Steve and the real possibility of losing him to his injuries and the circumstances they were in.

"Don't get any ideas, alright? No one is dying."

It had taken young Danny months to recover from the loss of his best friend.

Today, adult Danny was positive he never would.

* * *

As a kid, Steve had learned the myths and legends of ancient Hawaii.

Day after day, he'd sat in fascinated awe, listening to Mamo's tales of the powerful deities who were believed to have ruled the islands.

In one of those legends, he had learned about Kanaloa, one of the four major gods of the Hawaiian religion. Ruler of the ocean and god of the underworld, he was tall and fair-skinned, often represented as half man and half octopus.

Mamo had showed him a painting, a beautiful artwork of the almighty god who lived his days underneath the ocean's surface and was considered a healer and a teacher of magic, and Steve could've sworn that the man depicted on it was the same one he'd seen earlier during his near-drowning accident.

He remembered falling into the abyss.

The absolute darkness that had enveloped him.

The feeling of peacefulness when he had decided to let go.

And a presence, hovering around him.

Inquiring, scrutinizing eyes, then a hand reaching out for him and the slightest brush, a gentle touch that had slowed his descent.

Steve wasn't a religious man, but he had embraced a few beliefs of the Hawaiian culture, including the idea of spiritual energy inhabiting places, objects and persons. He had known, the minute he'd slipped underwater, that he was doomed to certain death. Now, as he lay inside the raft plagued by a worsening fever, he wondered if something, someone had watched over him until Danny could find him.

A tap on his shoulder gradually brought him back to the present.

He heard disjointed words, felt somebody shaking him, and crawled back to awareness to the reassuring touch of Danny's hand on his cheek.

"… and I would very much like to stop talking to myself... Steve? You with me, buddy?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Good. Stay awake, alright?"

Steve nodded, wishing he could promise him that. He was growing more and more tired and was having trouble catching his breath. "He saved me…" he whispered, because Danny was his best friend and he wanted to tell him all about the god that had spared his life.

_What?_

Danny's brow furrowed in concern.

"_He_? Who's he? _I_ saved you, buddy. There's no one else here…"

He touched his partner's forehead and flinched at the warmth radiating off his skin.

"He's real…" Steve continued in his pain-induced hallucinations. His chest spasmed and he coughed again, bending over as sharply as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Blood spattered his lap and the hand he'd tried to cover his mouth with. He looked up, startled but not really surprised, and met Danny's wide-eyed gaze.

"It's alright, buddy, you're gonna be alright," the blond immediately reassured him, using a piece of the dead man's shirt to wipe away the bright red drops staining Steve's mouth. "Why don't you tell me all about this man who saved you, huh?" he added, playing along with his friend's fantasies while he frantically looked out over the water and tried to figure a way out.

He watched helplessly as more fits racked his partner's body. They were coming thick and fast now, and it looked like Steve was struggling to get enough air. Danny was no medic, but he knew shortage of breath was the first sign of more than a few life-threatening diseases.

He had to get him to a hospital.

Fast.

After what seemed like hours, the coughs slowly eased in intensity and then completely stopped. Face ashen, Steve slumped in exhaustion against the raft's edge. It felt like the air he breathed just wouldn't go in, plus the constant movements of their inflatable boat bouncing against the waves didn't help the dizziness that was getting increasingly worse.

Danny felt suddenly lightheaded as well, the strain he'd put his body through rearing its ugly head against his will. He plopped down next to his friend, shoulder bumping against shoulder.

"Really stupid way to die, huh?" he said, letting his pessimistic side get the better of him.

He had done everything he could, and it hadn't helped a bit.

The sky was looming over them.

All he could see was blue.

Different hues, same haunting color.

Steve reached out a hand, curled it around his friend's wrist.

"Let's... rest for a bit, alright? Then… maybe we can f-figure out a way..."

Never a quitter, he held onto hope even if he didn't believe it.

They both closed their eyes.

Driven by the wind, the raft travelled up north with its precious cargo inside.

The two friends remained asleep.

They stayed like that even when a boat appeared on the horizon, glistening in the sun, its outline becoming clearer and clearer as it made a steady approach towards them.

Strong arms pulled them to safety, and yet they did not stir.

Only hours later, in the confined space of a hospital room, one of them came back to life and started his silent vigil on the other.

* * *

"I fell asleep..."

"You were exhausted."

"I was supposed to help him, and I took a nap instead." The disgust lacing Danny's voice was hard to miss.

Five days after being rescued by the coast guard, his life had been reduced to waking up in his hospital bed and spending the day at his friend's bedside, only to go to sleep at night and start it all over again the next morning. There was no world outside Steve's room, only people who came and went with food and updates and the occasional phone call to remind his children he was still a father.

Today it was Adam's turn to babysit him and they were sitting outside the Intensive Care Unit while the doctor checked on Steve and started him on a new treatment they hoped would help.

Danny had been treated for dehydration, exposure and fatigue. Nothing compared to what his partner was going through, which only added to his all-consuming guilt.

"You _did_ help him, Danny."

"How?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "How did I help him? Because he's lying there with a tube down his throat and—and I can't fully understand what the doctors are saying but it sounds bad and they say there is no direct cure for it so tell me… tell me how exactly did I help him." The words flooded out of his mouth with the force of a lava-spewing volcano, so fast he barely had time to breathe as he spoke. Once they were out, he deflated like a puppet and buried his face in his hands. "I'm the one who put him there in the first place..."

Adam shook his head. "Come on, man, don't do this to yourself."

"Just stating the truth," Danny shrugged.

"Look, I've know you guys longer than any other member of the team, and you've both been there for me when I needed it, so trust me when I tell you that this is _not_ on you. And if Steve was awake right now, you know he'd tell you the same thing."

A sad smile curved Danny's lips.

_Yes, he would._

"So what did they say exactly?" Adam continued.

"They, uh… they said his lungs need to heal, that all they can do is make sure there's enough oxygen in his blood and give him medications to prevent complications."

The wound to Steve's thigh had turned out to be the least of their concerns when they'd found out he had developed ARDS for swallowing salt water during his near-drowning accident.

Danny had learned that the acronym stood for 'acute respiratory distress syndrome', which basically meant his partner's lungs had filled with fluid, making it difficult for them to expand and depriving him of air and his organs of the oxygen they needed to function. He wasn't sure he'd gotten the explanation and all the medical terminology right, but suddenly the shortness of breath, tiredness and confusion Steve had experienced made perfect sense.

'_ARDS often worsens in the first few days_', they'd told him. True to their words, the day after the diagnosis the dreaded ventilator had been added to Steve's oxygen therapy. They had made him comfortable, and told Danny it was all a waiting game now.

Despite the reassurances that many people with ARDS made a full recovery, Danny knew his heart would only stop aching when he could witness that for himself.

"Doctor's out," he said, jumping to his feet without even realizing it. He turned to look at Adam, then back towards the nurses' desk where the man had stopped.

"Go. I'll talk to him and then update you."

Danny nodded gratefully.

As he watched him walk down the hall and disappear inside Steve's room, Adam wished he had someone as special as Danny Williams in his life.

* * *

If there ever was a positive side to waking up in the ICU, it was opening his eyes to the biggest, most caring smile Steve had ever seen.

And the fact that that smile was reserved _just_ for him spread a warmth through his body that had nothing to do with him finally being on the mend.

* * *

Weeks later, Duke told him he'd had a vision of the god Kanaloa at the exact moment Steve had slipped beneath the waters.

A deep connoisseur of the Hawaiian culture, the Sergeant believed that the energy of power and strength flowing through all things and humans, the _Mana_, was gained throughout one's life by meaningful work, relationships and the service lent to the community. For this very reason, because of his good heart and his exemplary dedication to the citizens of the island, he was convinced the Commander had been deemed worth and spared from death.

They greeted each other with the traditional _Honi_, pressing forehead against forehead and inhaling at the same time. The 'exchange of breath' through closed eyes had always had a special meaning for Steve, making him feel connected to others in a deeper, more spiritual way.

Having lost both his father and his mentor, Duke was now the only figure he could look up to as a role model, and learning of the connection they'd shared prompted him to admit that, whether it was real or not, he had seen something too.

The older man patted him on the shoulder and smiled.

* * *

"Only you," Danny said in his usual '_I rant because I love you_' voice, finger jabbing at Steve's chest, "would celebrate surviving a horrific ordeal in the water... _in_ the water." He shook his head, still in disbelief at the news that his partner wanted to spend a day at sea on a boat that Junior's dad had volunteered to lend them.

"We're going to be perfectly safe," came Steve's deadpanned reply as he opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water. His meds were already lined on the counter for what had become his morning ritual since the transplant, with the addition of two more pills courtesy of his latest misadventure. He held the door open for Danny, who grabbed the milk and put some into his coffee.

"Says the man I had to rescue not weeks ago from the bottom of the ocean."

"It wasn't the bottom of the ocean."

Danny stilled. "How would you know? You were basically dead. I had to perform CPR to save your ass which, by the way, reminds me that you owe me. Again." The hand holding the mug shook ever so slightly as unwelcome memories filled his mind, refueling his guilt.

Steve saw it and tried to break the tension. "I thought we were square," he scowled.

Leaning against the counter, Danny took a long sip of his coffee. Over the last few weeks he had ingested enough caffeine to last a lifetime, and the dark shadows under his eyes were a visual reminder of the battles he'd fought to get them both to safety and on the way to recovery. "That was before you decided to check out on me. Besides, you're not fully healed yet so you shouldn't even _think_ about being out on a boat."

Unsurprisingly, Steve had started asking to be discharged from the hospital the minute the last wire had been disconnected from his body. Healing was a process he'd rather do in the comfort of his own home, away from everyone.

"The ocean air will do me good," he shrugged.

In his own twisted way, he was probably right. Steve craved the water like junkies craved their fix.

Danny didn't understand, but had learned to accept it. He reached for the crutches that were propped against the kitchen island and handed them to his partner, who glared at them as if they were the ones responsible for his misery. "Let's start with going outside. We'll talk about sailing later."

They made their way out to the lanai and sat down on the chairs by the beach.

Steve tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sun and the ocean breeze after weeks of being inside. As the quiet settled a round them, he focused on the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, Danny's words still weighing heavily on his mind.

"I had to put my finger inside your chest to save your life," he said somberly a few minutes later.

Danny shifted in his chair, turning to look at him. That was something else he wanted to forget. "So?"

"We're even."

The blond seemed to consider the statement for a while, then heaved a long, weary sigh. "What a pair, huh?"

Steve nodded, eyes still closed and the hint of a smile on his lips. "Yeah. What a pair…"

THE END

This was the prompt:

'_Steve and Danny are stranded far from land, with not much in the way of resources. _

_Steve is injured, in and out of consciousness, and it's up to Danny to save him._

_Steve is aware of how difficult it must be for Danny to be in the water like this. He tries to tell __Danny that he's sorry, that he knows how hard this is because of Billy Selway, assuming he's gotten his friend into a bad situation that will bring back horrifying memories of Billy...instead of the reality being the current-day horrifying situation of possibly losing Steve. Danny looks at him and says, "This isn't hard because of Billy. It's hard because it's you." And it's true. He's not thinking about Billy drowning. He's thinking about Steve drowning.'_


End file.
